Momma's Little Girl
by beatle9
Summary: In September 1968, rock photographer/single mum Linda Eastman went to stay with Paul McCartney at his London home. Though she fell in love with him, she missed her 5-year old daughter, Heather. Linda invited Paul to return to New York, not only for a vacation but also to introduce him to Heather. But how do you introduce one of the most famous men in the world to a 5-year old?
1. Chapter 1

Linda Eastman exited the elevator, exhausted, sweaty and thankful to be home after running errands on such a hot and humid late August day in New York City. Heather, her five and a half year old daughter, had already run down the hall and was patiently waiting for her to open the door. Linda had gotten used to walking and taking public transportation to run errands, but today was one of those days during which everything was an effort. The heat made her feel like she expended much more energy than normal; it had even given her a slight headache. And, she still had to go to work; she had to photograph The Animals in concert at the Fillmore East, the venue where she took most of her pictures. Though she loved her job and would be among friends, she already anticipated going to sleep.

As soon as she walked into the apartment, she felt the unwelcome rush of hot air. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the oasis that was her peach, white and khaki striped, faded love seat. How she longed to sit down. She knew, however, that if she did, she would most surely not want to get up. And she had to call her messaging service to see if anyone called.

"Mommy, I'm hungry," said Heather.

"How about some cookies and milk?" Linda suggested as she yawned.

Heather agreed, going to her makeshift room to find her coloring book and crayons while she waited. She found her crayons but not her coloring book. 'Where could it be?' she wondered. By the time she had reached the bottom of her milk crate toy chest, a fire truck, a plastic doll, her tiger costume, a large green bouncy ball, wooden blocks and a puzzle box had been strewn across the floor. No luck. "Mommy, I can't find my coloring book!" she yelled.

"Look under your bed," Linda yelled back as she readied Heather's snack.

Heather took her mother's advice. There, against the wall and under her cot was, not only her coloring book but also Kitty, her orange tabby cat with white fur on his paws, around his mouth and on his front chest. Kitty was much more than just her favorite stuffed animal—he was one of her best friends. How could her mother have known where her coloring book and Kitty was? She knew that she would have to crawl under the bed to rescue him. Heather got on her stomach, wrinkling her green t-shirt, to retrieve her best friend and coloring book. It was hot under there, but the job needed to be done. Stretching her right arm, she reached for and successfully rescued him from the dark corner.

Heather hugged Kitty tightly in her arms and gave him a kiss on his right cheek. "I'm sorry, Kitty. Are you ok? Were you scared?" she said, full of concern. She was thankful that he was rescued after being stuck all alone for so long in such a dark space. When Kitty told her that he was frightened, she continued to hug him while scratching behind his ears.

Linda found Heather on the floor, clutching Kitty beside her chin-length dirty blonde hair. "Are you ok, Heather?" she asked.

"Mommy, Kitty was behind the bed the whole day! He was so scared under there! I just rescued him," she told her mother.

"Ohhh, well I'm glad you did," she played along. "How's he doing?"

Heather informed her mother that, "he's better but he's still a little scared."

"I'm sure he'll be ok," Linda reassured. "Want to go eat?"

Heather and Kitty sat on the living room floor as her mother placed the peach slices, three Oreos and tall glass of milk on the small, square mahogany coffee table in front of her. "What do you say?" Linda prompted.

"Thank you," replied Heather.

"You're welcome. I have to make a quick phone call and then I'll come sit with you for a little bit."

"Ok," Heather said through a mouthful of cookies. Linda reminded her daughter to not talk with her mouth full, then walked back into the kitchen and promptly lifted the phone from the receiver.

"Big Apple Messaging Service, this is Gloria," Linda heard the woman answer in a South Carolinian drawl. Before Gloria said her name, she knew it was her. Gloria had lived in Harlem since she moved to the city in her 30s with her husband. In the 20 years that she had lived in the city, she had never outgrown her accent.

"Hi, Gloria, it's Linda Eastman," Linda replied.

"Miss Linda! You have a message!" Gloria exclaimed. She was always happy to hear from Linda. Linda was always very friendly and always treated her with respect, which was more than she could say for some other customers; even in a city as diverse as New York, much prejudice still existed.

"You have an elephant's memory, Gloria," marveled Linda. "You didn't even have to put me on hold!"

"Honey, this is one message _**no one**_would forget! It's from Mr. _Paul McCartney_."

Linda beamed. Her heart skipped a beat at the drop of his name and soon began to race. She hadn't heard from Paul since their "Dirty Weekend" in June at the Beverly Hills Hotel. Though she was disappointed, she wasn't surprised; Paul was a _Beatle_, after all. Since that weekend three months ago, she had thought about him whenever she heard his name, which, in the circles she ran, was frequently. Her memories of their conversations and the sex brought a girlish smile to her face; in the span of her romantic life, other men or rock stars she had dated or had sex were not even in the same league. There was something else that she couldn't put her finger on about Paul. The time they spent together was, for lack of a better word, right.

"Miss Linda? Miss Linda, honey? Ya still there?" repeated Gloria as she brought Linda out of her daydream.

"Oh, sorry, Gloria. I just, um, got a little distracted," she sheepishly replied.

"Uh-huh," Gloria said. Her skepticism made Linda smile with embarrassment. "Well, honey, he said he wants you ta call him. Do ya have a pen handy so I can give ya the number? He says it's his home number."

Linda grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the corner of the white Formica countertop. "I'm ready," she said with a quiver in her voice. Her right hand shook as she held the pen.

"Mommy, look!" exclaimed Heather as she ran into the kitchenette. She wanted her mother to see the progress she had made on her snack. Linda put her index finger to her lips, reminding her daughter to be quiet.

"Sorry, Gloria. What's the number?" As she read the number, Linda copied it down, then repeated what she had written. Gloria confirmed that she had written the number down correctly. "He called at 11:16 am," she said.

Linda looked at the clock—that was five hours ago. She just missed him, as she had left the apartment a few minutes earlier. "Any other messages?" she asked, staring at the number she had written, half in disbelief.

"That was the only one, but what a one to have! So, Linda, how's Little Miss Heather?"

Linda made it through the fog that had just settled on her mind. "She's good. We just got home from running errands."

"How old is she now? Four?"

"Five and a half. She'll be six in December. I can't believe it," she smiled as she stretched the phone cord, watching her daughter coloring in the living room.

"Whoo-boy, how time flies!"

"It really does," Linda agreed.

"Alright, honey. I best be gettin' back to work. Tell Little Miss Heather I said 'hello'. Y'all take care now."

"You too. Thanks for the message. Bye, Gloria," Linda said then hung up the phone and sat, distracted, with Heather. She wondered why Paul had called so suddenly. Looking at the clock, she wondered if she had enough time to call him before she had to leave for the show at the Fillmore East tonight. Danny would certainly have something to say about this, too. Heather interrupted Linda's musings as she showed her the horse that she had neatly colored in her book.

"Look how nicely you colored that horse," praised Linda. "Gloria asked for you. She says 'hi'."

"Hi, Gloria," Heather said as she colored the grass around the horse.

"I'll tell her you said 'hi' the next time I talk to her." Her motherly instinct kicked in when she saw that Heather still had half of her milk to drink, encouraging her to finish it. Heather whined; she wanted more cookies with the rest of her milk. Linda didn't budge, telling her that three cookies were enough for today.

As Linda sat on the love seat to ensure that Heather finished her milk, she tried to think of a way to rearrange her schedule so she could speak to Paul. She quickly came to the unfortunate conclusion that she did not have time to call him; in the course of an hour and a half, she had to take a shower, get dressed, ready her camera, make a salad for the babysitter and make Heather's dinner.

A frenzied two hours, Linda greeted Mrs. Diana Finch, the babysitter, and kissed Heather goodbye. With no time to wait for the elevator, she hurried down the stairs to catch the bus to the Fillmore East. The ride was filled with thoughts, mostly of Paul.


	2. Chapter 2

"Half eight", Paul thought as he looked at the watch on his right wrist. He was as anxious to leave the studio as a student waiting for that last school bell of the year. All he wanted was to return to his home where Marha, his Olde English Sheepdog, would be faithfully waiting with enthusiastic kisses.

Those, however, were not the kind of kisses he wanted. The kind he longed for were from a beautiful, friendly, empathetic, funny, talented and intelligent woman.

_Linda._

Instead, he was here recording "Back In The USSR" with John and Ringo, two of his three closest friends…well, according to Beatles fans. Of late, it seemed like there had been an increasing number of arguments and rivalries. Their trip to India had relaxed their minds and provided much-needed relief from their real-world pressures of being fabulous Beatles. In the ashram, they had a creative reawakening; John, Paul and, even, George came back with stacks of completed songs and song ideas.

While their creative spirit had endured these past few months, the feeling of peace and togetherness that they left India with had not. This time, they mostly chose to work alone on their songs. When they did, the mood was always tense, their conversations strained.

Sexually (and emotionally), his needs were not being satisfied. Over the past few weeks, he had apathetic sex with Francie Schwartz, the nightmare he just kicked out of his house. As her stay extended, she grew more demanding and greedy. The last few times they did try, he could not even get hard.

'At least there's some coke left in the tin by my bed,' he thought. Martha would, faithfully, sit next to him as he snorted the substance that could take him away from this harsh reality for a few hours. Maybe it would also dull the ache his heart had for Linda. His heart longed for happier times, like the weekend they spent together in the Beverly Hills Hotel in June.

"Paul, let's try another take," he distantly heard the Beatles' longtime producer, George Martin, say over the talkback microphone from the engineering booth. "Paul?...Paul?"

"_Hey_, he's talking to you, Macca!" John Lennon yelled.

"Oh, sorry," Paul dazedly replied. "What'd he ask?"

"If you wanted to do another take." Taking on an older male voice, John mocked "Paul does very well in his studies but has his head in the clouds." He then went back to noodling on his guitar. In his own voice, he added "nice tent."

Paul shook his head 'no'. "Not yet, George," he said. "I want to get the cymbal fill right."

"Christ," Ringo muttered.

"Never knew you were a praying man, Ringo," John snidely remarked.

"Come on," Paul said, shrugging off John's inane comment. "We've been at this for too long, Ringo. It's got to sound more even. You're not playing it evenly enough."

Clenching his jaw, Ringo played the cymbal fill. Again. Quickly, after grabbing the cymbals to silence them, he averted Paul's gaze. Based on the pattern of the afternoon, the next words out of his mouth would, surely, be some sort of criticism. If there was a clock on the wall in the studio, the second hand would have been moving backwards. Ringo just wanted to go home and play with little four year-old Zak.

Paul heaved a heavy sigh. "Give me the sticks and I'll show you," he demanded. Practically breathing down Ringo's neck, he pushed him off the drum kit to demonstrate. "you didn't hit it hard enough. You should give it more attack and more gradual sustain. Not too much, you know. I want it to sound like The Beach Boys."

"I've _been_ doing that! I've been doing EVERYTHING you bloody asked for."

"_No_, you haven't. I've heard it, Ringo. You haven't been playing it that way. When you get it right, I'll hear it!"

Ringo saw John roll his eyes. "Don't tell me how to play me drums!"

"I just want it right. That's not a lot to ask. It's _my_ song!"

That comment pushed Ringo over the edge. "It's **your** song? _It's __**your**_ song, is it?!"

Paul crossed his arms "I'm the one who wrote it."

"I'm tired of this shit, Paul. For most of this goddamned album, I've done nothing but become a fucking brilliant chess player. I'm a part of this band, not just _your_ fucking session drummer! I'm tired of waiting three bloody days to play and, when I do, you telling me how to do it! I've had enough of your bullshit—you can play that fill yourself. You know the way you want it so YOU bloody play it. I'm done. I quit." Throwing his drum sticks on the ground, Ringo slammed the studio door behind him.

"Now you've done it," commented John as he removed his guitar from his person.

Reality set in as John offered his insult to Ringo's words. The Beatles had just lost their drummer.

His heart cloaked in a mix of anger, hurt, confusion and panic, Paul ascended the stairs to the roof. He needed time to plot his next decisions.

Linda awoke, refreshed, at about ten the next day. As soon as she realized it was a new day, her heart skipped with excitement in anticipation of her call to Paul. Much as she loved Heather, she couldn't wait for her to leave for Washington Square Park with her friend Angela and Angela's mother.

Heather was still fast asleep with Kitty on her cot in the living room, giving Linda time to do her bathroom routine. Linda then began the almost daily task of dragging her daughter out of bed. Though this generally worked to her advantage when she was a new mother, over time, it became a hassle and, sometimes, a chore. Heather was a talented sleeper and a terrible eater. If given the choice between eating and sleeping, Heather would almost always choose the latter.

Normally, during this time of year, she wouldn't have to choose but Heather had a play date. Fortunately, this time, she was easily awoken. Linda got her out of bed, helped her brush her teeth, made her breakfast, got her dressed and even managed to squeeze in a reading lesson before she took her daughter downstairs to meet Angela at noon.

Linda impatiently waited for the elevator upstairs, allotting herself as much time as possible to chat with Paul. Once at her apartment door, she quickly headed to the kitchenette and picked up the phone. Linda stood there so long that the noise emitting from the phone told her to hang it up.

After putting the phone back in its cradle, Linda went to roll herself a cigarette. Hearing the phone ring, her heart skipped a beat. 'Could Paul have known?' she wondered.

"Hello?"

"Hi Linda," a familiar voice said.

"Oh, **Danny**! It's you."

"Expecting Mick Jagger?" he smiled.

Linda nervously laughed.

Since Linda had met Danny Fields more than two years ago when he was still a reporter at "Datebook Magazine". They were amongst the many reporters who were invited to The Rolling Stones' press conference for their new album, _Aftermath_. Well, to be accurate, Danny was a reporter; Linda wasn't. She worked as a secretary at "Town & Country", a job that she despised but needed, financially speaking; one of her many menial tasks was to open the nameless mail addressed to the magazine. As Keith Richards and Brian Jones had just done a spread, someone from their management felt obligated to extend an invitation to the magazine; though, in reality, it was because Brian wanted to see the magazine's boss' daughter again.

If the invitation had been addressed to the rest of the stuffy, artificial people who worked at the magazine, it would have immediately gone in the trash; outwardly, they all acted outraged that the band that stood for uncouth manners and rebellion appeared on the cover of their cultured, sophisticated magazine; privately, they let it slide because the issue would sell. The only other person who shared Linda's excitement was Christina Berlin, the daughter of Richard Berlin, who ran the Hearst publishing empire. Like Linda, she grew up in affluence. Unlike her, however, she enjoyed the trappings of wealth. What they shared was not only their love of music but also their desire to rebel against their blue blood parents.

Being the boss' daughter had its advantages, like being the only teenager in the VIP press room at the airport when the Beatles arrived in New York. Unlike every other teenager, she behaved maturely. That maturity won her the chance to be among the Hearst entourage that greeted The Rolling Stones the first time they arrived in New York City. When Mick asked who the young brunette was, Andrew Loog Oldham, the Stones' manager, replied "she's someone to remember."

A rowdy bunch, by 1966, The Stones had been banned from every New York City hotel. So they were staying on the only place that would have them—the S. S. Sea Panther, docked at the 79th Street Boat Basin.

The management, however, did not have the foresight to realize that so many people would want to attend the party on their tiny boat. Their solution was to let no one onto the boat, effectively rescinding their invitation. Linda, however, was not satisfied with that answer—she wanted to take those pictures. The Stones' manager kept insisting that the boat was closed to the press.

Hearing the commotion from the deck above, a tightly clothed Mick Jagger emerged—he was rather enjoying their verbal sparring match. Seeing that the person who was arguing was young, blonde and, unlike so many women in the 60s, curvaceous and busty, he insisted that she come aboard; the fact that she was so unfashionably dressed mattered not. Christina accompanying her was a pleasant surprise.

Once on board, Mick starting chatting her up; there wasn't any need to introduce himself, as everyone knew who he was. In between the all Stones flirting with her, Linda took her world-exclusive pictures. While Mick was the star, Brian Jones was her favorite because of his funny mannerisms. She didn't mind the attention at all; it had been a few weeks since she had any adult fun. With three year-old Heather at home, being a mother had priority.

Meanwhile, back at the dock, the pressure mounted in Danny's chest—as a new reporter at "Datebook", fumbling this assignment meant getting fired. His job on the line, the best chance he had was to ambush the photographer that got on the boat.

As Danny waited, the warm, humid summer air felt cold as the breeze reflected off the water. Nervous, all Danny could concentrate on was the heavy air. His body refocused on the cool air as soon as he saw Christina, the youngest sister of his close friend Brigid; accompanying her was a young, sharply dressed woman holding a Pentax. Getting the niceties out of the way, Danny was blunt—he wanted her pictures. Linda told him that another teen magazine, "Hullabaloo", had first pick. But she assured him that he could get whatever they didn't want. Danny not only gained the pictures he needed to save his job, but also a close friend.

"How are you, Danny?"

"Good," he yawned.

Sliding down the wall, Linda sat on the chilly kitchen floor. "How's your day been?" she asked, munching on a Ritz cracker.

"It just began," Danny yawned. "So far, so good."

"Cavorting with the boys again?"

"Yes, _mother_. You'll be happy to know that I drank responsibly last night, though," he said, itching the top of his head with his left hand.

Linda chuckled, "ok, ok. I won't pry about your love life."

Danny, instead, mentioned that he had bumped into Lillian last night at a show at a local coffee club. She said she was going stir-crazy from being inside working on her rock encyclopedia all day.

"I'll have to call her later to ask how that's coming. She's been working so hard on it. I have to call her anyway just to catch up."

Lillian Roxon, an Australian rock journalist, was Linda's closest female friend. It was a foregone conclusion that, every time one called the other, the conversation could, easily, last an hour.

Naturally, gossip worked its way into the conversation, as Lillian was a journalist. That, however, was her only vice—she neither smoke nor drank, a complete anomaly.

"Heard from Paul lately?"

Linda's heart skipped a beat. The mere mention of his name caused her to beam uncontrollably.

"Mmm, no. I haven't," Linda lied.

Danny could tell that Linda was not being completely forthcoming with information; he could hear her smile when she answered. "I thought you'd be more upset," Danny commented, trying to play along. "Did you try calling him?"

"No."

"That's not a very 'Linda' response." His comment caused Linda to give a mild chuckle. "Why haven't you tried? He's a Beatle!"

"Exactly."

"Beatles still have phones and mailboxes. Beatles still get telegrams."

"True," she agreed, pulling another cracker out of the box.

Danny dropped the subject, knowing that Linda was being cagier than normal about it. "How's Heather doing?"

"She's great. She went out with Angela and her mom for the day. They're going to walk around the city and play in the park. I can't believe she starts school soon. If I had my choice, she wouldn't be going to Dalton."

"Dalton's a good school. I hate to admit it, Linda, but your dad is right about this one."

"It's not a question of being right, Danny," Linda argued. Standing up, she continued, "it's that where you go to school doesn't matter—it's your heart that matters. It's your values that matter—kindness, honesty, sincerity, empathy. I don't want Heather to grow up in an environment like that. I don't want her to value what the kids who go to that school value. My mom was all about keeping up with the Jonses, which I always thought was a load of bullshit. It's hand-to-mouth living right now but Heather is happy and being raised right. I don't want Heather to grow up like I did."

Danny turned on his hot water kettle. While he knew that having the financial security Linda had as a child would be a good thing, he chose to gloss over that fact. "You're the one raising Heather, not your father."

Linda sighed, air slowly going through her nose. "Yeah, that's true."

"Heather's not like that, though, Linda, because that's not your style. She gives me a hug from her every time I come over. I remember I was getting over a bad cold once," Danny said, stirring his coffee. "She wouldn't let me leave until she gave me a check up with the instruments in her doctor's bag. If you have any doubts, well…that says it all."

A smile forced its way onto Linda's face. "I remember that—she asked me for some cookies to make you feel better."

"It worked. I don't know anyone who would refuse a cookie."

Linda laughed to herself. "Thank you, Danny. I appreciate you listening."

"Isn't that what friends are for?"

"Yeah, you're right." While fidgeting with the phone cord, she distractedly asked "what've you got planned today?"

"I'm supposed to have a phone interview with Simon and Garfunkel later. They just performed at the Hollywood Bowl. What about you?" Pressing the lever on the toaster, the two slices of bread slipped into their miniature tanning booth.

Mindlessly, Linda continued to wrap and unwrap phone cord around her index finger.

"Linda?"

"Huh? Oh, um, I don't know…Heather's out with Angela so I've…I've got the day free."

"Everything ok?"

"Yeah."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure, Danny." He then asked Linda if she was excited to go to Los Angeles on Saturday. The question only made her daydream of Paul again.

"Linda?"

"Oh…sorry, Danny. Saturday? Yeah, that sounds good."

Danny stirred his coffee, a tad annoyed. "Linda, we're going to L.A. on Saturday. I'm interviewing Aretha and Judy Collins and you're taking the photos. Remember?"

As Danny's toaster dinged, she replied, "yeah, I remember. That'll be nice. You said you were going to come over and we'd go to the airport together, right?"

"Yeah. I forget what time the flight is."

Taking a swing of coffee, he said "me too. I'll come over maybe about two and a half hours before we're supposed to leave."

"I wish I could but I can't. Datebook wants this article on rush."

"Good luck, Danny. I know you'll pull it off."

"Thanks, Linda. I gotta go get ready for my interview but I'll see you on Saturday. Maybe I'll stop over before."

"Ok, bye, Danny."

Linda put the phone back in its cradle. She stared at it through her squinting eyes.

Reaching for the phone, she suddenly stopped. She had not even dialed yet, her heart pounded furiously.

'Not yet,' she told herself. Carrying herself to her bedroom quickly, she realized that, after her smoke, she needed to call. Time was of the essence, especially for her if she wanted the conversation to be leisurely.


	3. Chapter 3

After looking through her dresser, she returned to the kitchen with a joint in hand. Her back against the wall, she stood beside the phone deep in though about nothing in particular as she inhaled. Linda stared at the burnt yellow wallpaper until her vision became blurry. Her realization that she was daydreaming ended, what seemed to be, a pause in time. The apartment's silence dawned on her—it felt lonely without Heather.

'Just call' Linda told herself. Her right hand slightly trembled as she dialed '0'. She read Paul's number to the operator and soon heard a pulsated ring, indicating that she had been directed overseas. In her semi-intoxicated state, her heart pounded as the phone rang four times…five times…

Suddenly, the ringing stopped. "Hello?" asked Paul. Annoyed, he took a long drag from his cigarette. These days, he seemed increasingly irritated and confused at the band's lack of comradery, especially after having gotten along so well in India. Usually, when he came home from the studio, it was with a heavy heart. He, John, George and Ringo had matured like brothers, slept on top of one another for warmth, chipped in for prellies together when they needed the money in Hamburg. It seemed increasingly unlikely that it was just a phase. For the first time in the band's existence, going to work felt like a chore instead of a joy. Often, after he got home, he would lie on his bed and cry. Rum and marijuana aided in repressing his doleful feelings.

"Hello?" he asked again, this time more angrily.

"Hi Paul, I got your message," she spoke. Though Linda was quite experienced at dating some of the most famous men in the world—Mick Jagger, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Warren Beatty—she had butterflies in her stomach and her heart.

Paul's pout turned into a grin as his heart leapt. 'Linda', he thought as he closed his eyes with joy. Her American accent had such an inviting and sunny tone. Laying down on the bed again, he said, in his Liverpool lilt, "hello, love. I'm glad you got my message." Turning on the charm he added, "it's nice to hear from you, Lin." Paul savored the tobacco and took another drag to calm his nerves. "How've you been, love?"

Linda bent at the knees with excitement, trying to muffle her giggling. His voice was calmly charming with a hint of rugged gruffness from cigarette smoke. How could just one person's voice in her ear send her entire body into a frenzy?

"I've been…good. I'm still taking a lot of photographs. I get to go to concerts. Such a scene! I just took some of The Animals yesterday night at the Fillmore East," she said, then giggled. Yesterday night was one of the few vestiges of the photography world she still enjoyed. Linda had just started the mission of interviewing agents to help her manage her growing workload. Currently, she had to manage her own jobs and deals. Now that she had the front cover of "Rolling Stone", her phone was ringing off the hook. That was a double-edged sword—while it meant more money, it also meant that she would need an agent to help her manage her work. Every interview left her cold and discouraged—the business she loved had become too commercial. Before, it was just her and the artist at the photo shoot; now, PR men started to interfere. Linda was wondering what else she could take pictures of. She had thought about taking pictures of athletes but people told her that was worse than the music business.

"Do you think you got lots of great shots?"

"The film will tell me when I develop it tomorrow. Photos never lie, you know," she told him in jest, then laughed. Hungry, she began to rummage through the pantry. "How've you been, Paul?"

Seeing that that cigarette had quickly reached its filter, he stamped it out in the ashtray beside his bed. "I've um…things have been good. Staying busy, y'know." Nervous, Paul lit another.

Linda could tell that Paul was lying. "Sure?" she pressed.

"Yeah, I'm alright, love," Paul said in his smooth, PR-man tone. He certainly didn't want to talk about his problems. Even if Linda _did_ care, crying on the phone to her from 3,000 miles away wouldn't convince her to come visit him in London. He quickly changed the subject to Heather, who sounded positively adorable, then lit another cigarette.

A smile played on Linda's lips. "She's fab," she blurted out. Paul laughed; realizing what she said, Linda burst out laughing. Her verbal misstep had broken the ice.

"What's she doing?" Paul asked on the tail end of his laughter.

"She's hanging loose with a friend in the park and enjoying her last few days of summer vacation before she starts elementary school." Finding exactly what she wanted, she began crunching on a box of open granola.

"Lin? You still there? It sounds like static."

Linda laughed. "It's me. I'm eating granola. You wouldn't believe how hungry I am."

Paul grinned and started to chuckle. "Oh, I'd believe it, love. Once, when I got high alone in me house, I didn't have any food left. Practically went mad 'til I had the brilliant idea of going downstairs and asking the gatebirds for food. Least you've got food, you know."

Linda giggled. "I have to. Otherwise, Heather doesn't eat."

Paul brought the conversation back to Linda's sweet daughter. "Is elementary school like primary school?"

"Yeah. In America, you start elementary school when you're six. Heather's five and a half but she'll be six in December."

Paul carefully set his right hand down so as to not singe the sheets. "You have a birthday next month. How're you going to celebrate, love?"

"I'm not sure," Linda sighed, her let hand pushing her hair back. "I'll probably be working. I might go out for a drink or something."

Paul's stomach was doing cartwheels as he told Linda the reason he called. "How'd you like to spend it in London? You can just show up. I'd love to see you." His heart intensely pounded against his chest as he waited for Linda's response. The burn of the cool cotton sheets against his fingers intensified faster than it dissipated. Paul was sure that Linda would say 'yes'—he knew she enjoyed the "Dirty Weekend" as much as he did. He and Linda discussed everything from music to philosophy to art to their families. It never felt like a date but like two old friends catching up…in between lots of satisfying sex and toking. Plus, not many people said 'no' to a Beatle. Armed with such sound reasoning, Paul wondered why he was still nervous.

Linda thought she heard Paul ask her to stay with him in London. Her knee-jerk response was to say 'yes'. But she couldn't just uproot her and her daughter's life in New York City to take a chance in London with Paul. What if it didn't work out?

"Still there, Lin?"

She had fallen into a daydream again. Paul had a habit of making her do that. She righted herself and then spoke. "Yeah…um…well, how do I know you'll be there? What if you just leave?"

"We'll be recording this new album we've been working on for the past few months. The more time we spend on recording the less time we have for mixing and mastering." 'When we're not having a row,' thought Paul. His high from cloud nine began to plunge. "EMI wants it for the Christmas rush. They always do."

"I'd really like to hear it." She paused, then said "that was a lot of fun in the hotel in L.A. Just sitting and talking with you in the hotel about music, art, photography, our families, our childhoods…and then again on the boat cruise. That was really sweet, Paul. We just sat and talked and smoked…and snuggled…and had sex…" Linda stopped herself, knowing that saying any more about the Dirty Weekend would make her instantly say 'yes'. Instead, she chose to go into business mode, a mode which felt unnatural. "Heather's starting school the first week of September. And, before that, I have a photoshoot for _Madamoiselle_ magazine in Los Angeles that I committed to. It's, um…I'll…I have to think." Her heart sank as she finished her response.

Paul played it cool, masking that Linda's answer trampled on his heart. "Well, alright. But really do think about it. I had a wonderful time with you as well, love. I'd love to have you stay with me in London, Lin. We could even do something special for your birthday."

"I promise I'll think," she said with every intention to do so.

Fibbing that he had to go to the studio, Paul said goodbye to Linda.

Linda stood with the phone in a daze, her mind swimming with not only excitement but also responsibility.

"Goodbye, love. Happy birthday!" Paul said with all the charm he could muster. He desperately wanted to change Linda's mind.

"Bye, Paul," she said politely.

Paul heard the phone softly click. Linda's comforting, friendly voice was gone. The hurt that started in his heart radiated to the rest of his body. He sat on his bed, feeling as disheveled as it was. What could he do to make Linda come to London? Overwhelmed with emotion and disappointment from the day, he began to cry.

One of Paul's favorite characteristics about Linda—her confidence—had become a double-edged sword. He liked that she was a strong woman and respected her dedication to her daughter. Paul knew that making Linda choose between Heather and him was not only a losing battle, but also one he didn't want to fight. He was devastated when his mum was cruelly taken away from him at only 14; he didn't have the heart to callously take anyone else's. 'But why did she have to think about it?' he selfishly thought. 'She and Heather would come to London and stay with me. What's there to think about?'

Hearing him crying, Martha, his black and white Old English sheepdog, rushed to Paul's bedroom. She jumped onto the bed, turned herself in a circle and cuddled next to her master.

Martha's wet kisses on his tear-stained face only made him feel worse. He pushed her off the bed to cry on his own. When his dark grey tabby cat, Thisbe, came, he did the same. If he was going to be miserable, he was going to do it alone. The louder he cried, the more his voice reverberated throughout the house and the more alone he felt. His yelps of misery soothed his anxiety.

Lately, Paul began feeling an urgency to settle down. He was 26 years old and wanted to start a family. Being a Beatle afforded him the opportunity to meet and sleep with hundreds of attractive women. He figured that, somewhere within all of those girls must have been someone truly special. Before drifting off to sleep, he would make a mental list of all those girls he liked…as people. Escaping to the past made allowed him to not think about his current problems. He and his three closest friends were doing more arguing than recording. And when he came home, it was to an empty, disheveled house. Paul longed for meaningful companionship.

Linda was the woman who he went back to time and again in his mind; she was kind, intelligent and attractive woman with a passion for photography and music. And now that he had mustered the emotional stability to ask her to stay with him, she wouldn't even say 'yes'.

He reached into his nightstand drawer, picking up his pillbox and a razor. Paul stared at the box, then put it back. He was in no mood to carefully snort every last gram that he lined out.

However much he enjoyed sex, he began to realize that it couldn't compensate for someone's personality (or lack thereof). Though, he hadn't even wanted to have sex lately; and, sometimes, all he did was cry. He had evolved from a silly drunk into a sad, miserable one who told his problems to anyone who would bend their ear.

He had been crying all over England. The band's once roadie and now general assistant, Mal Evans, had to drive him home from the studio a few weeks ago because he was crying so much. At the family reunion in Liverpool, one of his cousins was forced to call Francie. She had to drive up there because he was doing nothing but crying in the corner. She gave him more than a few choice words when she got there, which only made him cry harder. On the car ride back to London, he kept sobbing that his family only loved him because he was a Beatle and had money. The next morning, when she wanted to talk about it, he acted like nothing had happened.

Paul considered turning his worry to his benefit. He had money and could buy her something to force Linda to fly over. Nobody ever said 'no' to a Beatle…except Linda…but what could he send her?—flowers? They were a nice gesture, but not forceful or impressive enough. Jewelry? He could ask Mal to go buy something at a shop on the high street…but Linda didn't go much for jewelry. Money? Yeah, that was it!...but how much? She certainly wasn't a prostitute.

He let out an elongated sigh. Though he knew none of those things, or any material things, could make her say 'yes', he still momentarily considered it. If problems could have been solved with money, he and his ex-fiancee, Jane Asher, would be married with children. The gifts he lavished on her did not solve anything; they only masked the problems they had until he, along with the rest of Britain, heard that they were no longer engaged while watching her on telly. In the end, they had both hurt each other deeply. It also forced him to realize what he wanted most—a wife and children.

He rolled over on his left side, his face familiarly hot and tacky. Before Paul unstuck his upper eyelids from his lower ones, he could smell Martha approaching the bed. Paul felt the warmth of Thisbe's body next to his chest. The cigarette served as more of a distracter than anything else. Thisbe quickly quashed this behavior, as she wanted his attention. As Paul pet her grey tabby fur, he quickly relaxed. His heart told him that Linda was the only person who could convince herself to visit. Until she said 'yes', all he could do was hope…and focus on the band's problems.

After hanging up the receiver, Linda mentally reviewed what just happened. She still couldn't believe that Paul had asked her to come to London to live with him. She missed him, but never let the feeling become too intense because of who he was—a rock star playboy who was the apple of every teenage girl's (and, sometimes, older woman's) eye.

John and Paul knew that they would have to face that adoration once again when they had to go to New York to promote Apple, their new business venture. A scene would surely erupt outside any hotel in which they stayed, leading to them being trapped. None of the hotels in New York were eager to host John and Paul either. The Beatles' American manager, Nat Weiss, offered to loan John and Paul his two-bedroom apartment on East 73rd Street while he stayed at the St. Regis hotel. Their anonymity was soon interrupted once word quickly spread that two Beatles were in town. Hundreds of girls camped outside Nat's normally quiet eastside Manhattan apartment, begging, crying, giving blowjobs to and even having sex with the security guard outside the building.

Linda, however, knew about their hideout before the rest of the world, as she was friendly with Nat. She begged him to let her meet with Paul, but Nat said that it was entirely Paul's decision. Luckily, he said yes. Besides the young, attractive maid (who was hired at John's request), Linda was proud that she was the only other woman allowed in the apartment. Initially, their meeting was intimidating, but soon became very relaxed. They smoked a little and chatted the afternoon away, mostly about music. For people with two different lifestyles, they certainly had plenty in common. Their one meeting afternoon turned into three. Linda's routine over the next two days was visiting Paul in the early afternoon and staying until the early evening; afterward, she would pick Heather up from Mrs. Finch's apartment.

Linda was well aware that if he _was_ interested, he would come back. And, now, he suddenly invited her to come to London. Going to London meant that she would have to fly, which she detested ever since her mother died in a plane crash six years ago. Linda was only 19. Instead of staying with her family in New York, she flew back to Arizona and married Joseph Melvin See; shortly after, she discovered she was pregnant. In hindsight, it was not a wise decision. She could never call that part of her life a mistake, though, because of Heather.

Linda was touched that Paul even remembered her. Being a single parent was a turn-off to most men (and, also, socially unacceptable, though Linda did not particularly care about that). And personal details are largely irrelevant when you're having casual sex on a date. But, when Paul came to visit in May, they got to know each other better. Inevitably, Heather would come up in conversation.

It was on a lazy, inexplicably endless sunny Saturday afternoon that felt more like a morning. She and Paul were lying in bed after a few hours of talking, toking, kissing, caressing and having sex. The apartment was so quiet that even while she and Paul were talking, she could have heard the hum of the air conditioner….were it not for the girls outside. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a stripe of light on the bottom corner of the bed closest to Paul. When she shifted her eyes up and to the right, she noticed the tranquil sunlight bending around and slowly shining through the white cotton curtains. As she drew her eyes back to Paul, she marveled at just how quickly the time went. Watching her chest compress, she felt the corner of her lips rise to a contented, closed-mouth smile while she silently sighed through her nose. Lying next to Paul on the newly wrinkled (and soiled) soft white sheets, she felt uninhibited, which is probably why she let it slip. Though, the pot helped, too.

Paul's left hand was toying with the split ends of her shoulder-length, blonde hair as her right hand tousled his. Both of them were speaking eye-to-eye, in a contented tone while lying on their sides. Their discussion, rather series of musings, lacked concentration. A comfortable silence filled the void of conversation topics, which was then promptly broken by her stomach gurgling. Amused, Paul chuckled and asked with a smile "you hungry, Lin?" Linda looked toward her chest and gave a coy half smile. "We'll get something to eat, then," he said. He learned toward Linda to stroke the hair out of her face, punctuating his statement with a warm kiss on her lips.

As he lay, naked, back on the sheets, he mused "egg and chips sounds good".

Recovering from her embarrassment, Linda returned to relaxation, knees slightly bent and head resting on her hands. Her eyes were half open as if she had just awoken. With a warm smile, she mused "Heather loves that for breakfast."

"Who's 'Heather'?" he asked.

Linda lay in thought. Over time, she had become more disappointed by the dating scene. The people she met were fantastically talented, both on stage and in bed. The one-night-stands were enough to satisfy her sexual urges. Linda liked the people with whom she went to bed. Some of them were even friends. A serious relationship would be nice, but she was not desperate to have one. Linda was content with being a single mother with the occasional date or fling…but meeting Paul changed that. Though she wasn't blinded to think she even had a chance of starting something with him, she decided to be honest. When she was growing up, her mother had always told her 'honesty is the best policy'. Linda, in turn, passed that principle on to Heather. Shouldn't she follow her mother's advice? And her own advice?

Linda rolled to her right and looked into Paul's eyes. "Heather is my daughter," she explained.

Paul beamed, showing the misaligned tooth on the right side of his mouth that Linda adored. He had always wanted to start a family with Jane, but she wasn't having any of it—she was always more concerned with her career.

Intrigued, he propped his head up with his left hand as he leaned closer to Linda. His stunning gold-flecked hazel eyes beamed as he smiled broadly. Paul asked the standard questions, like how old she was and if she went to school. And he asked some a-typical ones, as well, like her favorite activities, how she and Linda spent time together, if she often took photos of Heather along with countless others. Linda was relieved and flattered that Paul, unlike other men, seemed to be genuinely interested in Heather.

Heather. Her body nervously shook, as if she had repeatedly ignored an itchy spot on her skin. Abruptly, Linda's mind landed in the present. Who would take care of her while she was gone? And what would she tell her about why her Mommy was leaving yet again? Linda had a whole host of issues to consider. She sat on the kitchen floor, robotically eating the entire box of granola.

When she finished, she stood up to look at the calendar to count the days until September, of which there were ten. On Tuesday, September 3rd, she saw "Heather's 1st day at Dalton" written. She sighed. Though Linda was not the best student, she couldn't deny that day was major milestone in her daughter's life. Missing that day was not a compromise.

At the same time, the thought of saying 'no' to Paul only filled her with disappointment. Their time together was comfortable; they just fit. And, though she didn't want to admit it, she missed him.

On their "Dirty Weekend" in June, they emerged from their smoke-filled cabana at the Beverly Hills Hotel to go on a romantic boat cruise in the Los Angeles Harbor. It turned out to be a tour on a friend of a friend's somewhat dilapidated yacht. Paul apologized profusely but Linda couldn't have cared less; they passed the time discussing art and music, their favorite topics. Linda felt as though she was beginning to know the _true_ Paul, not the one that he put on for the press. He was still the friendly, optimistic man that everyone knew. But he was also caring, a wonderful listener and worldly. Yet, he was also lonely. What would surprise people the most is how intelligent "the cute one" really was. Every girl in the world dreamed of spending time with a Beatle, so why not take the chance?

Plus, he seemed to really like her. When she had arrived at the hotel, Paul had three other girls in his cabana. The girls, all fashionably dressed, were listening intently to every word that the fine specimen of Beatle before them was saying. Linda was well-aware that she would not be the only woman there; wherever Beatles go, groupies surely follow.

Paul flashed Linda an enthusiastic smile, making her heart run a marathon. Linda returned the gesture, causing Paul's heart to go a bit wobbly. He led Linda to the sofa, forcing the African American girl out of her prize seat. Then, he told the girls that they had to pack their things and leave.

"What about the orgy later?!" angrily asked the Brazilian girl.

"Just keep the noise down, darling. I'll be exhausted by tonight," Paul said, giving Linda a sly wink.

Darting her eyes around the kitchen couldn't help her reach a conclusion. Looking at the clock, Linda noticed it was still the early afternoon. Heather wouldn't be home for another two hours, at least. She decided to smoke the rest of the joint and watch television to help her relax even more. The chatter on the television distracted her, but only just enough.

Abruptly, Linda's body shook. The telephone's ring pierced her ears, cutting through the inane chatter on the television.

Stumbling to the kitchen, she asked "hello?"

"Linda Eastman: you have a call on the white courtesy telephone in the lobby. Linda Eastman, please go to the white courtesy telephone in the lobby," said Lillian.

Linda breathed a sigh of relief, then laughed. "Hi, Lillian," replied Linda with as much charm as she could muster.

"Did I wake you? It's almost half two, darling."

"I was just taking a nap."

"Then go back to bed. You can all me later! I just hadn't heard from you since the weekend. That's all."

"Oh no, no, that's ok, Lillian," Linda apologized as she yawned. "I have to be up anyway. Heather will be home soon. It feels like it's been an age. How's your book coming along?"

"It's fine, you know. Bits and bobs coming about here and there. I'm still waiting for that interview from Clapton. That bugger thinks he's so bloody important but, let me tell you, he's got another thing coming if he doesn't answer me. No one wants to incur the wrath of Lillian Roxon."

"Heaven forbid," Linda chuckled. "Danny told me he ran into you last night."

"I did. He decided to have a pub crawl last night."

"He sounded croaky this morning," Linda yawned again.

"I'm not surprised," she said, taking a swig of tea. "You sound tired, darling."

"I just woke up from a nap," Linda reminded her.

"You sure you weren't just messing about?" Lillian teased as she grabbed yesterday's newspaper.

"That hasn't happened for a while," she mused with a laugh. "The last person was….Jimi?...no, Danny. Not _our_ Danny…no…Lillian, in my defense, I haven't had anyone come over in a while. I've had my share of sex in the past few months, though."

"Slut."

Linda let out a raucous laugh. "That was unexpected."

"You know it's not true, darling. You're pure class. A class act all the way."

"Thank you," she smiled. "That means a lot coming from you, Lillian."

Changing the subject, Lillian asked, "how's Heather?"

"She's great! She's out with Angela and her mom right now. They said they were going to the park. I can't believe she's starting school soon, Lillian. She's nervous but I know she'll be alright. Heather's been asking for you, actually."

Lillian smiled. "Bless."

"Maybe we can see you again soon. Heather misses you."

"I miss her, too, the little darling. I remember when she was in nursery school and I was over yours looking at a book. She was sitting next to me and pointed to a word and said 'that says 'red''. Astounding. I was proud of her."

Linda beamed "me too."

"Hey, guess who I just found a picture of!"

Linda's smile faded but she decided she would play along, for Lillian's sake.


	4. Chapter 4

Paul awoke the day after he called Linda feeling a bit better, though she had rejected him. What his Mum said rung true—situations always look better in the light of day. George Martin, The Beatles' producer, added to his good mood. He called to tell Paul that he wanted his opinion on some of the rough mixes before the recording session at noon. Being needed gave him a reason to get out of bed. Over the next few days, Paul stayed busy recording. The vibe in the studio was good, though not as good as it had been in the early days. All the while, he wondered if he was missing Linda's call.

After Paul called, Linda lived her life as she always had. She developed her photos, ran her errands and, of course, took care of Heather. In the back of her mind, however, she knew that life had presented her with a unique opportunity. Linda didn't have anyone to turn to for advice or to bounce ideas off of; she had to rely on her instincts. She could have told Danny but she knew what he would say—"what's there to think about?" The plane ride, for starters. But she would be with Paul. And she loved London the last time she went. Her instincts, and her heart, kept telling her to accept Paul's offer.

Normally, Linda didn't mind if her friends gossiped a bit—it seemed to be in their blood, what with most of them being journalists. But this situation was different because it was so private. The mere mention of The Beatles seemed to bring out the crazed fan in everyone. If she told her friends about her and Paul, soon, the entire world would know how they spent their time, where they went, their sex life… She would have close friends and old acquaintances ringing her at all hours to ask to come over, not to mention scores of reporters. To her, her neighbors and the doorman it would be an annoyance, but for Heather it would be a nightmare. Linda could handle the pressure of being in the spotlight; after all, spending time with Paul meant that she had to accept everything that came with it—tabloids, petty gossip and irate fans. But Heather didn't ask for any of that. Her main concerns were playtime, sleep, cookies and her mother's hugs and kisses.

Two days later, Linda left for Los Angeles with Danny. After unpacking, while Danny took a cat nap, Linda went to Aretha Franklin's hotel room for a photoshoot for _Madamoiselle_ with the magazine's editor, Christopher.

"How was the photoshoot?" Linda shivered involuntarily at the question. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she shrugged off. "It was…well, it was sad at first. I opened the door and found Aretha crying on the sofa. She said her husband, who was also her manager, had really 'done her wrong'—that's how she put it. He just left! Her band and everyone else was hounding her about their money…I felt terrible for her. I just sat and listened as she poured her heart out. She didn't know me that well but I was the only person there, which is probably why she was talking to me. I gave her tissues and she kept drying her eyes and sipping slowly on vodka. She was so upset and I don't blame her." Linda took a sip of her drink. Shaking her head as she swallowed, she thought aloud, irritated, "I don't understand how her husband could have done that—the few times I'd met her, she was always such a nice person…so kind. How could you just walk out on someone like that?! Really, she just needed someone to listen to her."

"It sounds like it."

"After a while, she calmed and we started chatting about other things. I got a few shots of her then." Linda perked, telling Danny, "Suddenly, she exhaled, sat up straight and excused herself. Twenty minutes later, I was outside taking pictures of her in this gorgeous satin white dress. Aretha looked so confident and radiant, like you couldn't even tell she had been crying. I was touched. I would've understood if she didn't—she had been through so much that day. But she was determined. It meant a lot to me, not because of the money but because it says how much she trusted me. Aretha for the magazine looked good and did her job, but Aretha for me was more real. More honest."

"It's a testament to you, Linda. I'm glad she trusted you enough to let you take the shots you wanted. I'd expect that was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of situation. Nobody really lets you see them when they're that vulnerable except close friends."

"Yeah…" Linda sighed. The phrase "once-in-a-lifetime" remained at the front of her mind. She had another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity hanging in the balance.

The waitress approached their table. "Can I interest you in a dessert menu?"

"I'm full," said Danny. "Did you, Linda?"

As she looked down, Linda swirled her Tom Collins in her glass on the table. "…No, Danny. I'm fine thanks."

"Just the check," he told the waitress. They had nowhere in particular to be until tomorrow, but still felt like there was something else they should be doing, like painting the town red. "Do you want to go out? We could go to a club."

"You can," said Linda distantly moved her index finger back and forth along the rim of her glass. "I'm going to stay here. I don't really feel like going out." The only reason to go to clubs was to meet men. The only man she wanted to meet was Paul.

"Is anything wrong, Linda?"

"Paul asked me to come to London."

"Oh my god!" Danny exclaimed. "When are you going?"

Linda fidgeted in her chair. "Do you think he says that to lots of girls so he's never alone? He just invited me to come over and to call him when I got there. That's so vague. What if he wasn't serious?"

"'How can you take a chance that he's not serious? Linda, you love him! I remember how you gushed over him after you came back from London. You were one of the lucky few who got invited to the _Sgt. Pepper_ photoshoot at Brian Epstein's house last year. I would say that I don't know how you managed to swing that but you could always attract the boys, Linda."

"I never said anything about love, Danny. I just said that he was very sweet and cute."

"…and smart, and talented, and groovy, and cool, and has a good sense of humor, and…"

"Alright, alright," Linda joked.

"You're in looove," Danny teased.

"Stop," she said with a gentle undertone of hurt.

Danny paused in thought. Linda had always talked about Paul but had never professed her love for him. "Well it's just…" he said, treading carefully. He knew that Linda wasn't angry but he wanted to be polite. Her friends all knew that she was wild about Paul. When an announcement was made at the end of last year that Paul and Jane Asher were engaged after a five-year courtship, everyone in her circle knew that she would be devastated. Linda, however, did not seem to mind. She expressed her well-wishes for them but said that she did not think they were right for each other…after only spending less than an hour with him. Still, as her close friend, he felt the need to speak up. "It's just the way that it comes off, I guess. I can tell how much you like him because you talk about him often. I don't want you to have your hopes dashed. I wouldn't want you to get hurt. I know you've been with other musicians but Paul _is_ a Beatle, after all."

Linda smiled. "You're sweet, Danny," she said. "But I'm not delusional. I…"

"No, no, no," Danny cut in. "I never meant it like that."

"I know. I appreciate your concern but I'll keep my head about it," she reassured. All the while, her heart palpitated with thoughts of their previous meetings and phone conversations. That was the fourth time Paul had called her in a year. For someone who the press had described, until last month, as "happily engaged", he certainly took an interest in her.

"What do you have to lose? At the worst, you'll find out you're one of many girls. It's the risk you're going to have to take. It'll cost you a plane ticket—that's all! You'll get enough pictures while you're there to pay for the trip. On the other hand, if he's serious, Linda…if he's serious you'd better find out. Paul invited you to go. Just go." He then added, "Linda, you always wanted to get closer to Paul. If you don't go, you'll always regret it."

Two weeks passed before Linda decided to listen to her heart (and Danny). Part of the delay was figuring out her schedule for photography shoots and part of it was caring for Heather…but most of it was not calling to soon so she did not look overly enthusiastic. Though, it had to be on her own terms. Although leaving her daughter was not something she wanted to do, she had to test the waters with Paul somehow. She assumed that when Paul invited her to stay that it was going to be for more than a weekend. She had never spent longer than that with him. Perhaps they wouldn't get along as well as they had in the past.

Regardless of her doubts, she had to call Paul to tell him that she was coming. Luckily, Angela's mother offered to take Angela and Heather off her hands for the day, giving her plenty of time to call.

The first time she did so, in the late morning in New York, the phone rang endlessly. She quickly hung up, as she wanted to be sure that she would be free to talk.

Linda nervously bided her time by developing photographs and doing house chores before she called again. And again. Luckily, Paul picked up this time.

"Hello?" Paul panted, out of breath. He had run down a flight of stairs to his bedroom from the music room.

"Hi Paul," she responded with nervous excitement.

Linda didn't even have to say her name. While Paul beamed at the sound of her voice, his heart leapt. "Hello, Lin," he warmly replied, trying to catch his breath.

Taken aback, she responded, "how'd you know it was me?"

"I've got a musical ear…well, at least some people think I do," he remarked before coughing a few times.

Linda chuckled. "You think you could make a career of it?"

"It's worth a shot," he chuckled back. "So, uh, y'know, how've you been? How's New York, the Big Apple?" He desperately wanted to hear Linda say 'yes' but knew that he had to make small talk first. Paul could small talk with the best of them but, now, his skills were failing him.

Linda could tell Paul was quite nervous and happier than he had been the last time she spoke to him. "New York is good. It's hot and muggy here. That's the way New York summer always is. How's London?"

"It's, um, it's been…hot here lately. And sunny. Imagine that—sunny London!" he nervously laughed. "But," he paused, aimlessly drawing his finger along the mahogany varnished nightstand "I, um…I could use some company, y'know". Paul knew he was laying it on thick but he wanted Linda's answer.

"I'd like to come to London."

He jumped with excitement. She said yes! "Brilliant! I'll get you a ticket on the next flight out, then?" Paul couldn't stop grinning nor could his heart stop palpitating.

Linda could hear Paul's smile all the way across the Atlantic. She was thrilled that Paul was as excited as she was. "Not quite," she chuckled.

Before she could eke out another word, Paul interrupted, "whenever you come over is just fine, Lin. You'll have a ticket waiting for you at JFK. As soon as I have all the details, I'll give you a ring, love." 'And maybe a diamond one later,' thought Paul.

"I appreciate the offer, Paul, but I'll pay for the ticket."

Paul was surprised at her response—Linda certainly was independent. "Come 'ead, love, I invited you out," he insisted.

"It's very nice of you, Paul. Really. But I'd feel more comfortable if I paid for the ticket myself."

Paul cleared his throat. "But I was the one who invited you—at least let me pay for the ticket."

Linda politely, but firmly, declined Paul's generosity.

"Alright, if you're sure," Paul sighed. For now, he relented.

"Thanks," she said with some relief. Linda insisted on paying for her ticket to have the upper hand. She certainly had feelings for Paul but was wary of the average rock star's fickleness with women (and/or men). In case things didn't work out, she could call the airline on her own to schedule a return flight. "Where should I stay?"

"With me!" he laughed. "That's why I invited you, Lin."

Linda beamed with glee. "Oh, well, that's what I thought you meant when you asked."

"If it'll make you feel better, I'll have you pay room 'n' board." Linda chuckled. "Let me know when you have your ticket. Don't worry about when you schedule the flight. You can drop by the house any time, love."

"Thanks, Paul. I'll let you know."

"I'm looking forward to it. Is there anything you want to see in London? Or do?"

'You come to mind,' though Linda. "Hmm…well…I'll have to think about it. Do you have any suggestions, Paul? You'd know the city better than I do."

"I'll have to think of some places. Lately, all I've been seeing is the inside of studio two at EMI. I promise that whatever I find'll be better than that endless boat cruise in L.A."

"I enjoyed that. It was so nice to sit and chat on the water," replied Linda sincerely.

Paul could tell Linda was telling the truth. "Oh, uh, well, I'm glad you liked it then. Is Heather enjoying her summer holiday?"

"She really is. She's out with her friend, Angela, now. They went to the beach for the day." Linda and Paul's conversation could've gone on for hours. Mindful of the time, though, she politely ended the conversation, as the call was costing her a fortune.

After hanging up, Linda immediately tore out the phone book and began calling airlines about direct flights to London. Though she had already said 'yes', her heart was still pounding.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Linda found the time to schedule her flight in between picking Heather up from Angela's apartment and developing her photos. Now that her plans were solidified, she had to embark on the difficult task of telling her daughter that she would be leaving for an indefinite period of time. Linda thought the most opportune time to tell her daughter would be after she finished her lunch.

Linda sat on the loveseat as she watched Heather precariously stack a tower of blocks while holding Kitty. "Look at that stack of blocks—it's almost as tall as you!" Heather smiled proudly. "Want to come take a break and sit down with me?"

Heather's smile faded. "Am I in trouble?" she asked with concern.

"Nonono!" Linda patted the seat to her left and invited her daughter to sit down next to her.

"Heather, do you remember a little while ago when I went to London?"

As Heather shook her head 'yes', she felt her right cheek rub against' Kitty's left.

"Do you remember what I did when I was there?" Linda asked.

Again, Heather timidly shook her head 'yes'; she knew where this was leading. She quietly told her mother "you took pictures."

"I did!" she said encouragingly. Linda knew that if she kept her spirits up, it would show Heather that what she was going to tell her was not to be feared. She continued, "I took lots and lots of pictures of musicians. And some of the pictures that I took were printed in a book. Remember how I showed some of them to you?"

"Yeah," she said perfunctorily. She didn't want her mother to leave. That had been happening more often in the past few months. Why did she have to leave?

"Well, people liked my pictures so much that someone asked me to come over to London again." Linda chose her words carefully—she had to strike the precarious balance of not lying to Heather yet not telling her the complete truth either. "While I'm there, I'm going to take lots more pictures. My trip is for a little bit longer this time," she told her daughter. Looking into Heather's eyes, Linda could tell she was on the verge of tears. "Want to come sit in my lap?" she asked. Heather immediately obliged.

Linda groaned upon Heather sitting in her lap. "You're getting so big! You won't be able to sit in my lap for too much longer." Linda knew she had said the wrong thing—Heather began to cry.

Linda's attempt to right her wrong by rubbing her daughter's back was in vain; Heather needed to release her emotion as streams of tears. Linda waited with patience and heartache until Heather's sobs had subsided to short gasps and sniffles.

"Heather," Linda said cautiously "can I get up to get you some tissues to blow your nose and dry your tears?"

"Are you leaving after that?" Heather croaked.

"No, I'm not leaving yet," Linda reassured while rubbing her back. "Come on, sweetie, we'll go together."

In the bathroom, Linda dried Heather's tears and gave her tissues to blow her nose. "Better?" she asked. Heather nodded her head. "What about Kitty? Does he need me to dry his tears?"

"No, he's ok," she mumbled. Heather felt a wave of tiredness overcome her.

Linda sat on Heather's stepping stool to talk to her face-to-face. Heather's feet dangled as she sat on the closed toilet seat. Linda explained that she would be taking pictures of musicians in London, sometimes at concerts.

"Why can't you do it here?" Heather asked with disappointment. She felt Kitty's wet tear-stained fur against her cheek.

"Because I have to go to London to take the pictures."

Heather looked down at the black and white checked tile on the bathroom floor, then momentarily closed her eyes. "But are you gonna come back just like always?"

"Of course! How could I not come back?"

"What if you forget about me when you're away?"

Linda put her left hand on her daughter's left knee. In her reassuring motherly tone, she told her daughter "just because I'm going away doesn't mean I'm not coming back. I could _never_ forget about you—I'd miss you too much. I'll miss you while I'm gone." Linda gave Heather three short kisses on her right cheek. "I **promise** I'm coming back. I came back the last time I went to London, didn't I?"

"Yeah," Heather reluctantly agreed.

"See?" said Linda as she rubbed Heather's knee. "I'll come back! I'll send you postcards…"

"And call," Heather added.

"I'll try to call as often as I can, sweetie. Calls from overseas are expensive but I'll call sometimes." Linda could see Heather's disappointment as she pet Kitty's back. "Don't worry!" Linda told her.

Heather shrugged. Her mother's reassurance did not excite her—she wanted everything to stay the same. She liked going to kindergarten and she liked living with her mother. What would she do without her in a new school? She didn't want to be left all by herself.

Linda stood up and stretched. Sitting on that little stool was hurting her back. Crouching down to Heather's eye level, she asked "wanna come sit on my lap in the living room?"

"You said I'm too big," replied Heather bitterly.

Linda sighed. She explained that by 'getting big' she meant 'growing up' as she watched her daughter sit and sulk. Linda clasped her daughter's right hand in her left. "Come on, let's go sit together in the living room," she said while gently shaking her daughter's arm. After fierce reluctance, Heather finally walked to the living room with her mother, looking down at the momentary footprints in the cream-colored carpet all the way.

Linda sat on the loveseat, still holding her daughter's right hand. "My lap is lonely, Heather. It could use a friend," she guilted.

Heather watched her hand unclasp from her mother's. On her knees, she looked out on the people and cars along 83rd Street. All of those people were so lucky—they still had their mommies to take care of them.

"What's wrong?"

In protest, Heather continued to stare silently out of the window. Kitty's softness and familiar smell comforted her. He was the only one in the world who cared about her.

"When you're ready to talk like a big girl, I'll be in the kitchen." Frustrated, Linda went to the kitchen to clean the dishes. After a few seconds of silence, Heather gave her mother's legs a long hug.

"I don't wanna be all alone, Mommy!" Heather begged.

"All alone?" Linda asked, looking down at Heather. Taking her hand, she bent down and then shifted Heather in her arms, cradling her with her right one. "Heather, when I said I was leaving, I didn't mean that I was leaving you all alone. Mrs. Finch said she would take care of you while I'm gone for a few days, and then you'll be with grandma and grandpa, just like last time."

This news put Heather somewhat at ease—she was thankful not to be left all alone. She liked Mrs. Finch because she was very nice, great at drawing and sometimes gave her something sweet. And she loved grandma and grandpa! But, none of those people were Mommy.

"Did you think I was going to leave you all by yourself?" Heather nodded her head. Linda assured her that she would never do that, as she was too young.

"But you said I was a grown up!"

"I said you were_ growing up_, not that you were a grown up. I'm sorry if I scared you." Though Linda could feel Heather relaxing as she hugged her, she could tell that she was still worried. "You're going to be with Mrs. Finch for a few days and then grandma and grandpa will take care of you after that." Linda let go of her daughter and coaxed her onto her lap. "See? You still fit," she told her with a kiss. "Are you excited to start school soon?"

Heather sat silently for a moment. She made Kitty give her a kiss and happily returned the favor.

Filling the cold silence, Linda continued, "change isn't a bad thing, Heather. Things can change for the better. You're going to go to a brand new school with new kids. But you'll know some people there, like Angela. I'll take you to school for the first few days. And, then, grandma or grandpa will be taking you to school. Before you know it, I'll be back! You'll see—it'll go quickly. And some things will never change, like how much I love you." Linda gave her another kiss on the cheek and left it at that. Though she was somewhat sad Heather was having trouble accepting that her mother would be leaving, Linda knew, in her heart, that she had made the right decision to go to London.


	6. Chapter 6

"Eastman residence," answered Mary.

"Hi Mary," Linda said warmly. "It's nice to hear your voice."

"Linda!" Mary exclaimed. "I haven't spoken to you in an age. How _are_ you?"

"I'm doing well. Keeping busy with photography going to shows. How's Hank?" she asked.

"Doing what he'd been doing every day for the past 28 years—being a plumber."

Linda took a large sip of milk. "Is he still putting hot sauce on everything?"

Mary laughed heartily. "Does a leopard change its spots? If he bought a hot sauce company, he'd have zero orders to ship because he'd have eaten it all." She heard Linda chuckling. "How are you doing? How's Heather?"

"Growing. I remember when she was at my knees. And now she's almost at my hips." Linda let out a small sigh. "She's starting big school soon. I'm proud of her."

"Just remember that, no matter how old she gets, Linda, she'll always need her momma. She's momma's little girl."

Linda smiled. "That's true," she said, trying to swallow a belch. "Is my Dad there?"

"He is. Let me go get him, honey. Just a minute, Linda."

"Thanks, Mary."

Linda waited for her lawyerly father while silence and some static played in her ear. The faint music from the radio in her living room lightened the mood. She felt slightly nervous about telling her father why she needed him to babysit his granddaughter.

Lee Eastman cleared this throat, then gruffly said "hello?"

"Hi Dad," she replied, misleadingly promising herself that her kind tone would soften her father's mood. "How are you?"

"Good. I am preparing for my meeting with Tommy Dorsey later today. He is coming over to review some publishing contract agreements with me. He has some questions about the legal verbiage."

"Dad, it's Saturday," Linda reminded him after swallowing another swig of milk. Her father rarely missed the opportunity to insert business somewhere into the conversation. Most of her childhood memories of her father involved him being in his office or discussing business about or with his musically or artistically talented clients at the dinner table.

"Business doesn't stop," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Is he going to stay for dinner? I remember I'd always want him to do that magic trick where he'd tell me to look at the lights and clap. And then, right after, the lights would go out. It took me years to realize that he was just flickering the light switch."

"It depends on how long it takes. He is really only coming to discuss contracts."

Linda rolled her eyes. "Dad, could you do me a favor?"

"Hmm," he grumbled.

"I'm going to England on the 27th for a few days to take some photos. I'm not sure how long it will be. But, I need someone to take care of Heather."

"Are you doing more photos for the same people who wrote you that awful contract for that book you did last year. What was it called? 'Rock and Other Four Letter Words'?"

Toying with the phone cord, Linda replied "no, this is for something else."

"For what?"

"A different project. A personal project."

Lee frowned, sensing that Linda was not being completely forward. Going into lawyer mode, he asked "what kind of project? I have to know what I'm getting into here."

"You're not 'getting into' anything, Dad! You'll just be spending some time with your granddaughter."

"How long will you be gone?"

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how long it takes to complete the project."

Shuffling some papers on his desk, he asked, "what is this 'project' you keep mentioning?"

Linda felt her frustration growing. "The project that I'm going to England for."

"Is it a trade secret?"

"No, it's still being put together." As soon as Linda finished that sentence, she clenched her left fist, regretting the conversation that was about to occur.

"How can you just go to England without everything being in place? I want to see the contract. Are you going to be making any money?"

"From taking these photographs, I could." She began to pace the kitchenette.

"_Could?_ You're taking a risk. A trip to England is an investment."

"It's for something that I love, Dad. It's being around musicians and taking photographs!"

Lee stood up, taking the phone with him as he searched his bookshelf. "Money makes the world go 'round, Linda. You have a daughter to support. You have yourself to support. Let me see the contract so I can make sure you're getting a fair deal. It should be a work-for-hire."

"There is none."

"Then how are you going to make money?"

"By taking these pictures and then selling them."

Knowing his daughter, Lee tabled the conversation. He would discover why she was going to England eventually. "How long will you be gone?" he pressed.

"I don't know."

"I have to know how long you will be gone, Linda," he told her as his chair squeaked.

"It's open-ended—it depends on how long it takes to get the photos I need. I think, at least two weeks."

"Now I have a time table! This is progress. Monique and I are going to Montauk that weekend you are leaving. Jack invited us up. We will return late on that Sunday. We can take Heather after that. I will take her with me in the car with Edward. He will drop her off at school before he drops me off at work. It will be nice to have some company on the drive. I usually just review some contracts on the way there."

"Thank you," Linda sighed, dizzy from pacing such a small space. "I'll find someone else to take her for that weekend. Once I find someone, I'll let you know."

"In a timely fashion, Linda. Not two minutes before you board the plane."

The date for Linda's departure, September 27, had finally arrived. Heather had accepted that, no matter how much she begged, her mother had to leave.

Linda took Heather upstairs to Mrs. Diana Finch's twelfth floor apartment, holding a suitcase with some of Heather's clothes and toiletries in her left hand and Heather in her right. With Kitty in one arm, Heather stood on her tiptoes to press the elevator button that said 'PH'.

Mrs. Finch opened the door upon hearing Heather's knock. "Hello Linda!" she greeted. Looking down at Heather, she said hello to her as well.

Heather greeted Mrs. Finch politely but with sadness. Just because she accepted that her mother was leaving for a few weeks didn't mean that she wouldn't miss her.

"Come in, sit down!" She motioned for Linda and Heather to enter her beautiful penthouse apartment, painted baby blue and trimmed with white crown molding.

"Oh thanks, Diana, but I can't stay long. I've got to catch a cab to the airport soon. I just came by to drop Heather off. I really appreciate you taking care of her," Linda said as she set Heather's suitcase down on the plush, impeccably ivory-colored carpet. Heather stayed close to her mother, holding her right hand. She was used to her mother leaving for the night, not for an extended period of time. And the fact that Mommy didn't know when she was coming back frightened her. Starting a new school was intimidating enough; her mother leaving didn't help.

Mrs. Finch was a spry, retired baker who had recently sold her bakery, at which she had worked and eventually owned for 38 years. They first met when Henry wandered in to escape the bitter cold and wild wind early one November morning; the scents inside were particularly inviting after a trying 18-hour surgical residency shift at Mount Sinai Hospital. Her butter cookies and a cup of coffee from the coffee maker in the back warmed his body; her smile warmed his heart.

After they married, Henry knew that asking Diana to be a housewife would have been selfish—it would have prevented her from doing what she loved. Diana knew she was fortunate to have married such an understanding and forward-thinking man. Even after Henry retired, she continued to own and work in the bakery part-time. Linda liked her because she was friendly and had a zest for life. Heather and Mrs. Finch seemed to get along well, too—they both enjoyed coloring, drawing and baking.

She took pleasure in taking care of Heather, as her own grandchildren lived in Vermont and far upstate New York. Being recently widowed, Diana especially enjoyed Heather's company. And she knew Heather liked her because, sometimes, she gave her fresh baked cookies or cake when she babysat.

"Are you going to take more photos while you're there?" asked Mrs. Finch.

Heather tugged her mother's arm. "Mommy," she whined.

"Heather, I'm talking to Mrs. Finch now. You have to wait your turn," she said as she looked down at Heather. Linda then continued, "yeah, I plan to take as many photos as I can. A good portion of my suitcase is devoted to my camera and a whole lot of film. London is gorgeous. It has such a rich history and a fabulous scene right now. It's just really hot." '…as is the man who is waiting for me there,' thought Linda.

"I had a marvelous time every time Henry, the kids and I all went to London. All the people were friendly and the city is gorgeous. The tube took us everywhere and the kids loved it! Go and enjoy yourself, Linda. London is such a happening place right now." She added, chuckling, "if you're lucky, you might even see a Beatle!"

"Mommy?" Heather asked as she shook Linda's arm.

"Heather, don't interrupt—it's rude," she admonished, looking down at her daughter. Turning to Diana again, she said, "sorry. It's a lot of fun to take photos because you really get to capture the moment. To take pictures of people when they're in their element, well, that's just marvelous."

"Are you all packed? Make sure you take a coat and an umbrella—rainy London, as they say."

"Yeah, I brought some clothes but most of my suitcase is filled with rolls of film and my camera," replied Linda, conveniently omitting her birth control among the list of items.

"How long are you going to be away?" Mrs. Finch asked. Heather's ears perked up at the question—Mommy hadn't told her how long she would be gone.

"For right now, it's on a week-to-week basis. My assignment is touch-and-go," Linda explained. She didn't really just lie, did she? It _was_ the truth—how long she would be in London was a mystery. It largely depended on how well she and Paul got along. "But, Heather'll only be with you until early Monday afternoon. Grandpa Lee and grandma Monique are going to come pick her up then."

"Oh, ok," said Mrs. Finch. While she was envious of Linda, she wondered if spending so much time away from Heather now was such a good idea. Like Linda, she was in favor of the women's liberation movement, but the first year of school was a big milestone in a child's life. She felt badly for Heather that her mother wouldn't be there to help her make sense of it all. Even with Henry's hectic surgery schedule at the hospital, he always made time for his children and grandchildren. At least Heather had her Grandma and Grandpa. And, for the next day and a half, she could mother Heather.

Uncomfortable with discussing the details of her trip, Linda changed the subject. Linda handed Mrs. Finch the key to her apartment and some money for her help. She told her, "here's the apartment key in case Heather needs anything. And some money, too. I'll be checking my messaging service if you need me. My dad has your phone number. He'll call you before he and Monique pick Heather up."

"Thank you, Linda. You didn't have to do that."

"I appreciate it," she smiled. "I know Heather's in good hands while I'm gone." Looking at her watch, Linda realized that she had to get a move on it if she was going to make her flight. But, first, she had to say goodbye to Heather. Linda could feel Heather's quiet presence as she stood beside her, biding time until she left. Bending down, Linda told her she had a surprise.

"What is it?!" Heather loved surprises.

"Look in your suitcase," Linda pointed.

"Mommy, there are just clothes in there!"

"You sure?" Linda asked with joyful doubt.

Upon opening the suitcase, Heather found a framed black and white picture of her mother on top and a pile of other pictures underneath. "It's a picture of you!" Heather exclaimed. A few months ago, Heather asked her mother how she used the camera to take pictures of people and objects. How did all of that fit inside there? Mommy taught her how to use the camera. Telling her to be very gentle with it, her mother gave her a roll of film to try by herself! Since then, occasionally, when Heather asked to use the camera, her mother let her. A few days ago, Linda asked Heather if she wanted to use another roll of film. Of course, she accepted her mother's offer; Heather took pictures of everything she could find in the apartment. In less than half an hour, she had used up the entire roll.

Heather gave her mother a meaningful hug. "Thank you, Mommy," she said.

"You're welcome, Heather," Linda whispered. "Do you know who took that picture?"

"Who?"

"You!" Linda exclaimed. Her exclamation made Heather beam with pride; Linda, in turn, smiled back. "The rest of your pictures you took are in there, too. You took some great ones, Heather." She continued, pointing to the picture, "whenever you miss me, just look at that picture and know that I'll be thinking about you." Linda saw Heather's smile fade as soon as her mother mentioned missing her. "Mrs. Finch, Grandma and Grandpa are going to take good care of you while I'm gone. I'll send you postcards just like you asked. And I'll be back before you know it." She gave Heather a warm kiss on her forehead. Quickly, her daughter's small arms surrounded her. Kitty filled the space between them. Linda knew that her leaving was like a Band-Aid—the quicker you pull it off, the less painful it is. "Ok, Heather, I gotta catch my flight to London. Be a good girl while I'm gone. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy," Heather sadly replied. "Will you call me?"

"I will."

"Will you really send me postcards?"

"Mm-hmm."

Heather felt her mother's loving kiss on her right cheek. Then, all of a sudden, the warmth of her mother's embrace vanished.

Linda stood up, said goodbye to Diana and thanked her again for taking care of Heather. She also reminded her not to give Heather too many sweets. As she closed the door, she smiled and waved back at her daughter. While hurrying downstairs to grab her suitcase, Linda had a stew of emotion brewing inside her—the sexual anticipation of seeing Paul, her nervousness about flying and the pride of paying for her own ticket. While she would miss Heather, she was quite excited to see Paul and get a few days to herself. Having sex with Paul was an added bonus.

Heather stood in front of the door that her mother just closed, Kitty tucked under her right arm. She silently looked at the framed picture of her mother in her left hand, which comforted her. Still, she wondered when her mother would return. A tear dropped onto the frame, then onto the carpet.

The sight of seeing Heather staring at the door concerned Mrs. Finch. She could tell that Heather was heartbroken her mother had left. Crouching in front of Heather, she saw tears rolling down her red cheeks. Carefully, she placed the framed picture on the marble-topped end table behind her while taking Heather in her arms.

After Heather had stopped crying, Mrs. Finch took her to the bathroom to wash her hands and face.

"Mommy makes me do that, too," Heather commented, rubbing the last few tears out of her eyes.

"Great minds think alike," she smiled.

Heather hugged and kissed Kitty, pretending that he was Mommy. Looking up at Mrs. Finch, she thanked her.

"You're welcome, Heather."

While Heather was washing up, an idea dawned on Mrs. Finch. "Let's go to the kitchen to bake some chocolate chip cookies. You'll be my sous-chef," she suggested. If she distracted Heather, she knew that she wouldn't think about her mother leaving.

Heather perked up at the idea, eagerly rushing to the kitchen. She helped gather the ingredients for the cookies. She also helped to measure the flour, sugar and butter and cracked the eggs. Tried as she could to mix the batter, she wasn't strong enough. Before adding the chocolate chips, Heather insisted on taste testing them; once she was satisfied, they were added to the mix.

With her small hands, she carefully formed the dough into balls—Mrs. Finch was much faster at that than she was. Mrs. Finch also showed her how to space the cookies so they wouldn't touch. All the while, Heather's sadness waned.

Unfortunately, there wasn't any dough left in the bowl to eat; Heather would have to wait until the cookies were fully baked. It was difficult to wait while the smell of cookies wafted from the oven. Annoyingly, Mrs. Finch insisted that Heather let the cookies cool before she ate one—otherwise she would get something called "heartburn".

Finally, once the waiting was over, Mrs. Finch poured Heather a tall, cold glass of milk. With hunger and anticipation, she tasted the slightly warm cookies. They were very good…but not as good as her mother's.

Heather instantly remembered a day from February—there was so much snow that kindergarten was canceled! She helped Mommy make chocolate chip cookies. Her job was to add in all of the chocolate chips to the batter…if she didn't eat them all first. Chocolate chip cookies were yummy and Mommy always made them best—she only baked a few at a time so they were warm and the chocolate was melty. One time, she ate so many cookies that when she kissed Mommy on the cheek, her lips left a chocolate kiss mark. While the snow gracefully (and endlessly) fell, they snuggled together on Linda's bed under a scratchy dark brown wool blanket, drinking milk, eating warm chocolate chip cookies and taking turns reading aloud. When Linda read the bigger books, if it was one from the library, she would lick her fingers before she turned a page. Captivated by the story, Heather started to turn the pages herself to make her mother read faster. From then on, she and her mother informally agreed to a system—she would turn the pages, Linda would read…and lick the chocolate off her fingers.

Linda's palms sweat the entire time the plane began descending. Since her mother died, she always feared the something would go awry toward the end of the flight, resulting in a crash. Though, this time, she was also nervous in anticipation of her seeing Paul for the first time in almost three months. Why had she worn this tan cable-knit sweater anyway? Concentrating on the creases on her black Mary Janes, Linda hummed the chorus to "Hello Goodbye" to calm herself as the plane landed. In May after the Apple press conference, when she leaned in to give Paul a kiss goodbye, he met her halfway on her lips. When their lingering kiss ended, Linda said "goodbye"; Paul added, "I don't know why you say 'goodbye', I say 'hello'" with a wink. Because of that exchange, over the past few months, the song's melody would regularly accompany her fond memories of him.

In the terminal, Linda prepared herself to find her suitcase among the sea of luggage. When walking down the steps, she saw an older man dressed as a proper English chauffeur, complete with cap. He was holding a sign that said "Eastman". In her haste to make plans, she forgot to ask for Paul's address until the night before she left. When she called, he insisted that he would get a hired car; if she wouldn't let him pay for the ticket, at least he could pay for her ride to the house. Linda greeted him with a nervous smile, telling him that she would be just a minute looking for her bag. He told her there was no need, as it would be delivered to the house.

In the car, Linda looked out the window as the buildings and cars zoomed past on a late September Saturday night. Memories of her last trip to London flooded back—the Sgt. Pepper release party, taking pictures of the music scene in London, going around to the local nightclubs with friends. It was at one of those clubs, The Bag O' Nails, that she and Paul kept looking at each other from across the room. Once he made his way over, he clumsily approached her, blocking her exit from the club. He said the only line he could come up with—"hi, my name's Paul. What's yours?" He was certainly charming, though; his friendly smile put her as much at ease as she could be while in the vicinity of a Beatle. With a nervous and emotion-filled heart, Linda reminded herself to get her mind out of the clouds about this trip; she had slept with rock stars before. Linda distracted herself by talking with the driver.

If she had not stopped herself from fantasizing, the girls standing outside Paul's house certainly would. They immediately surrounded the car to see who was inside. Once the girls discovered the person inside was a girl, they turned from excited to nasty, hitting the car and hurdling cruel words at her; she pretended none of them hurt. The jealous part of her couldn't help but wonder how many of those girls he had been with. Linda heard a buzzer and then the metal fence slowly drew back. Her heart thrashed while the car drove inside. Surprisingly, the girls didn't try to go in after it.

Paul's house was proper British—large enough to know that the person who lived there was wealthy, but not too large. By Beatle standards, it was downright modest. After getting out of the car, she looked up to see three floors, the top two of which were made of stone. She passed the white paneling on the bottom floor and anxiously made her way up the four concrete steps to his door. Then, Linda waited in the cool autumn night air for Paul.


	7. Chapter 7

In his third floor music room, Paul's pleasant noodling on the piano was ruined when he played a wrong chord at the sound of the gate buzzer. 'Linda!' he thought, filled with the same boyish anticipation as Christmas morning. He heard Martha barking downstairs, who had just awoken from her slumber; she was just as excited as he was! Paul barreled, and almost tumbled, down three flights of stairs to answer the buzzer. His feelings of happiness were familiar, yet, nowadays, strange. He looked at himself in the mirror in the house's entryway, fixing his hair and his shirt collar in between pushing Martha down.

Paul opened the door to see Linda, in a black knee-length black pea coat and black Mary Janes, politely waiting at his front door. Where her pea coat ended, her maroon and forest green argyle socks began. Linda's strawberry blonde hair had a golden aura from the moonlight. The gatebirds screamed as soon as they saw him, but he couldn't have cared less—finally, the woman who he had waited almost three long weeks to see had arrived. Paul gave her a warm smile and a hug brimming with anticipation that had built since he saw her four months ago. As their embrace lingered, he could discern the faintly flowery scent of her shampoo. Paul momentarily broke their embrace to push Martha down with his left hand. His heart was racing as he gave her a kiss on the lips that was passionate in intensity but polite in length. Most of he gatebirds oohed but some of them booed; he wanted to tell them to piss off but retained his composure. After looking Linda up and down once more, his smile illuminated as he said "hello, Ms. Eastman."

"Hello, Mr. McCartney," she responded playfully as she gave him a kiss in return. Martha barked and excitedly jumped on her. Linda gave her a friendly pat on the head, satisfying her desire for attention. "What's your dog's name?"

"Martha. How was your trip, love? 'ere, come inside," he said, taking her hand. Before he could shut the door, the driver reminded Paul about his fare.

"Oh, right," remembered Paul. "I'll just be a minute then." Paul hurried Martha back in the house and shut the door. He told Linda to have a seat in the living room in the meantime.

Linda watched Paul scurry up the stairs in front of her. She smiled to herself as she noticed that his fancy black cotton pants with dark grey pinstripes were tight enough to accentuate his cute little butt.

Linda looked around the bottom floor while waiting for Paul. Martha's barking and the sound of her jingling tags followed. To her left was a window seat that faced high bushes and his neighbor's home. She hung her coat on the coat rack and removed her shoes. As she did so, she noticed the smell of cigarettes and the stench of a litter box. 'Paul must have a cat, too. He loves animals,' she excitedly thought. 'But his house smells awful, just like cat and dog pee'. Instantly, Linda's thoughts drifted to how excited Heather would be that he had a cat. She let herself miss Heather for a moment, then continued to look around the house.

To her right was the living room, which had two large windows. Currently, the white curtains were drawn. 'Privacy', mused Linda. The living room was mostly empty, except for a milky coffee-colored velvet couch, a chocolate brown chair and ottoman set, a television and a fireplace. There were also some items that she did not recognize, like an Eastern-looking instrument set on a stand and something that looked like a futuristic piece of equipment with controls and a red and white light. There were stains on the grayish blue walls and, probably, on the faded brown carpet as well. The only thing that prevented it from being a total bachelor pad was the Sergeant Pepper drumhead and the framed paintings on the wall. Linda approached the painting with the same caution that she would if she was in a museum. One of them was signed 'Picasso', the other was signed 'Magritte'. Having grown up with a father who was an art lover and collector, she was pretty sure they were authentic. Linda was shocked and impressed that Paul had aesthetic taste.

Martha interrupted Linda's study of the art on the wall, barking for more attention. Linda took a seat on the long, three-sectioned couch, petting Martha while looking at the built-in bookcases on the wall opposite the fireplace. Paul had two record players, a tape machine and a host of books, all in disarray. Dissatisfied with the new visitor's lack of attention, Martha began sniffing Linda's shoes—she was eager to play with someone new. Her cuteness, however, could not mask the fact that she desperately needed a bath and a good toothbrushing.

Closing the front door, Paul excitedly headed straight for the living room, gift bag in hand. "Hello, love," he said as he sat to Linda's right. Paul gave in to the pining urge to sweetly and longingly kiss Linda on the lips.

The warmth of his lingering kiss made Linda smile. As she pulled away from him after their short make out session, her fingertips fleetingly grazed his soft baby blue shirt. She could tell that he was much happier than when he invited her to stay with him.

Still romantically charged from Linda's kiss, Paul asked Linda how her trip was. He couldn't be more chuffed to have someone living in the house about whom he cared and, possibly, loved.

"It was fine. I tried to sleep along the way. I'm not much for flying because my, uh,…it, just…"

"Your mum?" Paul cut in as he patted Martha on the head.

"Yeah," she quietly replied. Changing her tone, she added, "I like your Magritte."

"Oh, thanks," he said, semi taken aback. "That's one of my favorites, actually. When I first saw it, I was just knocked out—that big, green apple and the 'au revoir' written in Magritte's script…I'm glad you like it, too." He walked toward the painting and explained to Linda "me friend 'Groovy Bob' brought that over one day. Well, his name isn't really 'Groovy Bob', it's Robert Fraser," he force-chuckled. "He's a gallery owner in London. He brought that one over one day. I remember it really well. It was a warm summer day and I was busy in the garden with some filming. He didn't want to disturb us so he'd just left it on me dining room table. It was a great surprise to find it. I love Magritte's sense of humor. And he's a really interesting bloke, too." Not wanting Linda to be bored, he went into Beatle-mode. "I loved the big green apple so much that I was inspired to use it for the Apple logo. We cut it in half for the B-side."

"Mmm, interesting," Linda commented, downplaying her interest in Paul's Beatle fact. "Have you always liked Magritte?"

"Yeah, ever since I learned about him in the 50s, I liked him. His paintings are uncomplicated but say so much. I could look at 'em for hours. What about you?"

"I remember thinking how interesting his paintings were when I was younger. When I was growing up, my father brought a lot of his clients, who were artists, over for a meeting or dinner. They'd talk about business, which I always found so boring. I was always most interested in when they talked about art. My dad taught me a lot about it." Linda could tell Paul was listening intently, as his eyes were focused on her. She smiled back at him, then continued "my dad learned about Magritte through his clients before he had a big exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art; a lot of them liked his work. My dad liked it, too, so he bought some. He heard that the Museum was going to have a dedicated exhibition and he knew my mom would love it; she was very into keeping up with the Joneses. Bullshit if you ask me; you should buy art or whatever else because you like it, not because it's fashionable…anyway, we had lots of art around the house. If his clients didn't have the cash, they'd pay him in an original piece."

Paul was impressed with Linda's knowledge. He stumbled out of his daydream when he heard Linda cough a few times.

"Alright, love? Did you want some water?"

"Please."

Paul returned from the kitchen with a glass of cool water. "Thanks," Linda said, taking it in her hands. After practically inhaling a third of the glass, she said, "thanks for the car at the airport, Paul. You didn't have to do that."

"I was happy to, Lin." Giving her the bag he had set down before their discussion about art, he said, "maybe this'll make you feel better. It's a belated birthday pressie." Paul hoped she liked what was inside.

The package smelled heavenly—the tissue paper was scented with lavender! Linda reached into the bag and pulled out a bottle of lavender bath salts, bars of lavender soap and lavender hand cream. With a warm smile, she thanked Paul and gave him a kiss.

Paul smiled mischievously. "You're welcome, love. Happy belated birthday," he said as he placed his left hand on her right knee. "I know how much you enjoy taking baths, so I figured you'd enjoy all that". By the time he finished his sentence, his left hand had crept to Linda's upper thigh. "Want to go take one together?" he said with a naughty smile.

Paul's advance was just what she needed after a stressful trip. But his hands were frigid! Cold hands were certainly a turn off. She took Paul's frigid left hand, remarking how cold his hands were.

"Cold hands, warm heart," he winked. As Linda held his hand, Paul noticed her long, slender fingers, which were perfect for holding her camera…or giving him a hand job.

Silence surrounded them as they held each other's hands. Paul instinctively closed the gap between them, giving Linda another of the kisses that he longed to give her when she first arrived. Their hands unclasped, furiously searching for somewhere to hold. Linda's fingers dragged themselves toward Paul's belly button and then playfully danced around his crotch. Paul's (now warmed) expert hands went in different directions. His right index and middle fingers intently stroked Linda's neck while his left hand slowly reached up her back to unhook her bra. As Linda's lips left Paul's, she beamed. Paul was the only man who could effervesce her sexual frustration these days; sex with other men was a fun distraction, but she always ended up comparing their performance to his.

After unhinging her bra, Paul slid his left hand to her chest. He felt softness all around his hand—Linda's sweater on top, her skin on the bottom. Paul remembered from the "Dirty Weekend" that it drove Linda wild when he kissed her under her ears. He nuzzled his face in Linda's neck, placing kisses under her left ear.

Linda felt Paul's lips and his hot breath cradle the back of her neck. Paul's kisses always left her with a feeling that lingered; although she wanted to believe that feeling was love, she convinced herself that it was simply the Beatle effect. Or, perhaps, he remembered what she liked from last time.

Paul could feel Linda's heart pounding as he caressed her breasts. Her lips embraced his. He could also feel her fingers rubbing against his inner thigh. "Let's continue this in the bath, love," Paul longingly suggested. Linda agreed—she wanted to be naked with Paul. And she could use a bath, too.

Paul grabbed the gift bag and ran upstairs; as he did so, he internally remarked that he hadn't felt a non-chemical-induced rush like this since…well, he couldn't remember. It was probably when he and his ex-fiancée, Jane Asher, boffed the first few times.

Upstairs, they strew their clothes among the mess. The bedroom was chilly, making it both necessary, and romantic, to stay close together to benefit from each other's body heat. They gave each other one look and knew that they wanted the other's touch.

Forgetting the bath, they ended up on Paul's unmade bed. Their clothes added to the mess of Paul's bedroom. His sweaty palms caressed Linda's torso as he looked down at her. He was rarely, if ever, nervous about sex but, this time was an exception. Linda giggled as Paul lightly drew invisible lines with his index finger on her stomach's smooth, pale skin. A kiss near her belly button made her giggle even more.

Her laughter was infectious. It lightened the sexual intensity between them, which Paul rather enjoyed. "You're quite ticklish," Paul remarked between giggles.

"You're not?" she asked, continuing to giggle.

"No," Paul replied guilelessly.

"We'll see about that," she remarked with a wry smile. Linda was intrigued by the challenge. She rolled Paul onto the mattress to begin her experiment. Paul was visibly happy with wherever she tickled him—behind his ears, behind his knees, on his chest—but he never broke into a fit of giggles like she did.

"Is your experiment complete, Dr. Eastman?" he said in a mock posh voice.

Linda gave a closed mouthed smile as she shook her head and mouthed the word 'no'. As she slowly stroked one spot on his upper left arm with her right index finger, Paul stifled a laugh. With an amused smile, Linda said "aha, I've found an anomaly in my tests, Mr. McCartney!"

"It's the only one you'll find." Linda gave him a look of amused doubt. "You gonna run some more tests, then?" Paul asked. With a gentle kiss on his lips, Linda told Paul she was.

She immediately found another spot on his right hip. "Another anomaly," she mocked. Linda leaned in to give Paul a kiss on his neck as her right hand rested on his cool chest for leverage.

Linda's lips felt wonderful there but would feel better against his. He leaned up so his lips could touch hers, giving her many short kisses. Linda slowly pushed Paul's back into the mattress, giving him a rush; he liked a woman who knew what she wanted in bed.

Paul, too, knew what he wanted. Clasping Linda's right hand in his left, he guided her hand downward. She grazed Paul's left inner thigh with her index finger, making him gasp. Linda cocked her head to the side, showing her beautiful smile.

Paul could feel his pulse in the pit of his stomach as Linda's left hand continued to play on his inner thigh. She then leaned toward his lips, giving him a perfect French kiss. Paul knew she was teasing him, as Linda was never one for being told what to do.

When Linda was ready, she began stroking him slowly at first, then faster. Paul gave a satisfied hum of pleasure, which soon turned into a moan. He could feel the fusion of sexual satisfaction, excitement and a sprinkle of nervousness creep up his torso. Though Paul had orgasmed plenty in his short 26 years, this feeling was unfamiliar.

Paul's pleasure-filled moan let her know that he had come. Quickly, she mounted him; Linda knew she could easily get him to come again, but not before she moved Paul's hand off her bum. He placed it as his side, gripping the sheets beneath his fingers to brace himself.

Linda set the rapid pace, with which Paul was able to follow easily. They moved together, rhythmically; 'this is one of the advantages of doing a musician', thought Linda.

Sweaty, Linda and Paul lay on the bed, hearts pounding. Snuggled next to Paul, Linda was exhausted from a day of travel and from the liberating sex she just had. She was satisfied but knew Paul would want to go again.

Paul lightly stroked his foot on Linda's stubbly legs—it was his turn now. He and Linda shared a few enthusiastic kisses before starting to make out. Paul ended the session with a simple, quick, loving kiss on her lips. He smiled at her, lightly pushing her nose with his left index finger. Lying on her right side, Linda quietly laughed, giving him a half-drunken post coital smile. With his left hand, Paul carefully rubbed Linda's right cheek. Under the covers, Linda's right foot played footsie with Paul's left.

Seeing that her master had finished, Martha jumped onto the foot of the bed. The warmth of her body warmed Linda's feet -but her body was still cold. She snuggled closer to Paul and, with her feet, drew the covers down to cover more of her legs.

Paul took that as a cue to kiss Linda again. He leaned down on Linda's supple, cold skin to give her a kiss on the lips.

"Now you're the one who's cold, love." The tips of the fingers on his left hand made gentle strokes under Linda's right jaw. "Guess it's my job to warm you up," he smiled. Paul climbed on top of Linda and began kissing his way down to her belly button. He heard her giggling.

"That tickles," Linda laughed as she felt Paul's kisses on her torso. Normally, Paul would have done more foreplay, but, this time, he just wanted her to come. She soon began to gasp and, eventually, moan as Paul's finger gently stroked her clitoris while his others stroked the right side of her neck.

Paul soon gained a satisfying rhythm, knowing exactly how to please her. His right palm, resting just below her belly button comforted and excited her—how could something so simple do that?

As her hips thrust, the thrill in her vagina built, and, eventually detonated as Paul brought her to orgasm. Afterward, Linda drew Paul close, savoring the warmth of his body.

While Paul snuggled with her, he internally remarked with pride at how easy it was to excite her. He kissed her on the cheek, asking if she wanted to take a bath together. Paul took Linda's contented 'mmm' to mean 'yes'.

Heather nervously awoke the next morning in unfamiliar surroundings. She remembered her mother had left the previous day; she was on Mrs. Finch's sofa bed. Turning to her right and looking up a bit, she saw the framed picture of her mother. She missed her.

Heather pulled the white sheet, dark pink felt blanket and pink-and-yellow-flowered quilt to her chin, taking comfort in the softness and warmth of the sofa bed. Moving Kitty closer to her, she embraced him. The stuffed animal did likewise, his front legs around her neck and head resting on her left shoulder. As she lay on her right side, she stroked the back of Kitty's head. Having no one else to hug, she tightly squeezed him. A snuggle with Kitty was always good, but immeasurably better when under the covers. Still with a heavy heart, she closed her eyes. Sleeping always made her feel better.

A few hours later, Heather awoke again, this time to the smell of bacon. She was hungry but not hungry enough to get out of bed. Heather silently lay in bed in a state halfway between slumber and lucidity, snuggling with Kitty under the covers. She wasn't in the mood to talk with Mrs. Finch.

Walking back into the living room, Mrs. Finch noticed that Heather had awoken. She asked her what she wanted for breakfast; Heather said she didn't know. Mrs. Finch ran through a list of things to eat—oatmeal, cold cereal and fruit, pancakes, a cheese omelet, scrambled eggs and bacon, an apple, leftover chocolate chip cookies—but Heather said no to all of them.

As Mrs. Finch made suggestions for what to eat, Heather rolled toward the picture of her mother. She glanced up at it, then slid further under the covers with, what felt like, her only friend in the apartment.

"Would you like to call and leave a message for your mom?" Mrs. Finch asked. "Get up, brush your teeth, wash your face and then you can call the messaging service, alright?"

"I won't get to talk to her?" Heather was disappointed.

"Your mom didn't leave a phone number where I could call her directly. She assured me that she would check her messaging service often. I'm sure she'll get it, Heather. It's time to get out of bed. It's a beautiful sunny day outside!"

After much reluctance to leave her bed, Heather returned to the kitchen with her teeth brushed and face washed. Still in her baby pink nightgown with large roses and white lace trim, she was tired. Shouldn't extra sleep give her extra energy?

She watched Mrs. Finch dial each number as she pet Kitty's back. Heather took the receiver once Mrs. Finch had given the messaging service her name and telephone number. She told the lady on the phone, Gloria, to please tell her Mommy that she loved her lots, missed her just as much, to call her back and, most importantly, to come home soon. Gloria seemed to like that message and promised her mother would receive it. When Heather was done giving her very important message, she handed the receiver back to Mrs. Finch. Heather hoped her mother would call soon.

Linda awoke early Saturday afternoon with a headache. When she rolled over to snuggle with Paul, she discovered that she was alone. There was a hand written note propped next to the clock:

_Lin,_

_I didn't have the heart to wake you before I went to session at EMI. You looked absolutely knackered. I'll be home later tonight. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge._

_Paul_

_xoxo_

Linda rolled back to the spot where she woke up. As she lay on her left side in the sea of luxurious Egyptian cotton that was Paul's dark red pajamas, she wondered how Heather was doing; she missed her. She was also famished—the last time she had something to eat was on the plane.

She headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth. But where was her toothbrush? In her suitcase, which had not yet arrived…or had and she hadn't heard the bell because she was asleep. Perhaps this was Paul's idea of how to keep her out of her clothes. Mildly frustrated, she headed downstairs with Martha in tow. Eating would make her headache subside.

Linda shivered as soon as she placed her bare foot on the cold brown kitchen tile. Upon opening the refrigerator, she discovered a piece of moldy cheese and a carton of milk. Linda took a whiff of it and gagged. Sighing with frustration, she closed the door. Linda massaged her forehead in the hopes of easing her headache. Perhaps there would be something in the pantry. There, she found one small, lonely can of Heinz beans. It was better than nothing. She would have to find a can opener, though.

Martha whined as she searched for the can opener. Poor Martha was so hungry, though. Feeling like Old Mother Hubbard, Linda wondered what Martha would eat. Dogs and cats could eat beans in limited quantities. Unsure if they had onions in them, which could make Martha deathly ill, she chose to err on the side of caution. At least she could refill Martha's water bowl.

Next to Martha's water bowl was one marked 'Thisbe'. Assuming that she would have met Thisbe by now if she was a dog, Linda figured Thisbe was his cat. She would give her (or him) some fresh water as well.

When Martha saw that she only received water, she whined again. "Sorry girl," Linda said with a heavy heart, "there's no food." Hoping to comfort her, she scratched her on the head. "Oof," she commented. "You really need a bath, Martha. Maybe that'd take your mind off being hungry."

Linda's stomach gurgled as she rifled through Paul's kitchen drawers for a can opener. She felt guilty about going through Paul's house as if it were her own but she was famished. As she opened the tin of Heinz Beans, Martha watched her intently and whined, making Linda feel even guiltier. Linda felt a cat circling her feet; she knew what Thisbe wanted. Linda couldn't bear to eat in front of a starving dog and cat. She needed to eat somewhere else in the house. The only problem with her solution was that Martha and Thisbe had the advantage—they knew the house better than she did.

In the living room, Linda turned on the black and white television, which barely worked. The picture was cloudy at best and even when she turned the volume knob all the way up, she could still hear it only faintly. Turning off the television, she sat back on the stained couch. As she ate, her headache slowly disappeared. She looked everywhere but at Martha, who sat beside her anticipating a hand-out. Thisbe climbed on the couch, rubbing and head-butting her, in hopes that Linda would feed her.

Linda threw the tin in the garbage can, then opened the white painted French door to let Martha into the garden in case she needed to go to the bathroom. Martha did her business and came inside again. Linda picked up after her and then cleaned the litter box. Afterward, she washed her hands and ascended the stairs to pick up Paul's clothes from the bedroom floor and give Martha a bath.


	8. Chapter 8

Paul returned home in the late afternoon, excited to see Linda. As he made his way through the small sea of gatebirds and their cruel comments and questions about Linda, his mood trended downward. All the while, he made sure that to hold onto the acetate he brought back from the studio while holding a cigarette in the other. He found Linda upstairs hanging clothes in his bedroom closet. Happy to see him, Martha jumped up to give him a kiss. He noticed how much better she smelled. Hungry, Martha quietly whined while looking up at her owner. Thisbe unhappily meowed a few times.

Linda greeted Paul as she gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Paul noticed that she was wearing the same clothes in which she had arrived. He also noticed how clean his bedroom was. Linda had made his bed and put away many of his clothes. He remarked with awe that "the room looks positively brilliant, Lin." Paul was impressed—his home felt like a home, not like just a place to lay his head. "Thanks for cleaning up. You didn't have to do that, love. The room hasn't looked this good in a while." He looked down at Martha, who was pawing his nice grey pants and whining for attention. "And Martha smells much better," he complimented as he pet Martha, who was still whining. "What's wrong, girl?"

"She's famished. Martha's been whining all day for food. Thisbe is hungry, too. The only thing I found in the pantry was a small can of Heinz beans. I would've shared it but, a lot of times, they have onions in them. The can didn't have any ingredients. Dogs and cats can get really sick if they eat onions. The only other things you had were some spoiled milk and moldy cheese. Do you have anything I can give them? I can go out and get something. I've been giving Martha and Thisbe water but they really want food."

The comfort from Martha's snuggles and kisses faded. Paul kneeled in front of Linda, embarrassed. He felt terrible that she had cleaned up all day and now, he couldn't even feed her, let alone his dog and cat. Sighing, he explained, "I could've sworn I had food in the house. I feel bloody awful about that, especially since you've been here all day cleaning. I didn't even ask you, Lin." Paul looked at the dusty brown carpet, rocking himself back and forth. A few seconds later, he continued, "Thisbe doesn't eat as much as Martha. I usually send Rose, the housekeeper, but she's been on late summer holiday with her husband since the middle of September. She isn't coming back from until Wednesday. I feel awful that you've been here like a prisoner, cleaning up all day for me. And you've barely had a thing to eat. I'm so so sorry, Lin. Really, I just feel awful. Come to think of it, it's been ages since I gave the girls money." Paul saw Linda look at him, puzzled. He clarified "I mean the gatebirds—the girls who stand outside my gate all day and night. I give them money and they do chores for me sometimes, like going food shopping or walking Martha. Whatever's left over, they keep. The shops aren't open on Sunday so I can't send them out now. I'll give them money on Monday to get some food. Please will you forgive me?"

Linda listened as Paul finished his thoughts. When she grew up, there were servants and a cook. She supposed that Paul's version of hired help were the girls who stood outside his door. Though, internally, she objected, she let Paul have his way. After all, she was a guest in his home (and for less than a day at that). For now, she would continue to take care of Paul, as she could tell how impressed he was and how much he enjoyed it. "I wasn't mad,Paul. I was just asking."

"Really? You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not," she replied as she returned Paul's embrace. As a mother, she could discern that his embarrassment about not having any food in the house was really something more. "I'm excited that we'll have food in the house, though. I can cook for you."

Pulling back, he exclaimed "you can cook?!" The last person who lived in his house and cooked for him was his housekeeper, Rose (though she did not exactly do it out of the kindness of her heart—she did it because it was her job).

Linda giggled a bit. "I can. I do it for Heather all the time."

Paul lit another cigarette. "What's she like to eat?"

"Scrambled eggs. She _loves_ them. And cheese omelets, potatoes of any kind, cookies, cheese pizza, pasta, apples and peanut butter…"

"Peanut butter?"

"You've never had peanut butter, Paul?" He shook his head 'no'. "It's a paste made of ground up peanuts."

Paul made a face. "It sounds quite awful."

"Millions of Americans would disagree with you, especially kids. That's a staple of Heather's diet. It's good for you, too—it gives her protein. Don't knock it 'til you try it."

"What's it taste like?"

"It tastes like…peanuts, except in a paste," she explained while laughing a little. "They add a little bit of salt to it, too. Sometimes, I'll drizzle some honey on Heather's peanut butter sandwich. She loves that." She changed the topic to see if Paul would discuss what was bothering him. "How was the studio?" she asked.

"Fine," Paul said coolly, clearing his throat. "I brought back an acetate of a song we just finished mixing this one a few hours ago. I want you to listen to it. Come 'ead," he said, taking Linda's hand. As he led Linda upstairs to his third floor music room, he told her that the song was called "Happiness Is A Warm Gun In Your Hand". Though surprised by the violent title, Linda couldn't wait to hear it; she had to quell her urge to seem more excited than she was. She first heard the hiss of the acetate came over the speakers, then John's powerful voice. In the background, she heard Paul's harmonizing with George's. And, right next to her was the man who helped to write and record that song.

Linda was wowed by not only the song, but also by the fact that she was probably the first person outside the Beatles' inner sanctum to hear it. She told Paul how much she loved it, telling him that she liked how different their sound was from previous albums.

Paul was proud that Linda had noticed and happy that all of the fighting in the studio wasn't evident to outsiders. Struggling to distract himself, he then showed Linda all of the machines and instruments in his music. Thisbe fought for attention by jumping onto the equipment. Paul was going to put her down but Linda chose to hold her.

Linda didn't care that Paul was trying to impress her but could also tell that Paul was trying to distract himself. As a fan, she was excited to listen to how the band created all those famous songs from a simple idea. Linda seized on the lull in the conversation. "You alright, Paul?"

"Yeah, love. Never been better," he forcefully smiled. He distracted himself by playfully stamping out his cigarette butt.

"You sure?" she asked as she set Thisbe down.

"Oh, yeah, yeah, I'm alright. I'm, uh, I'm good."

"What'd you do at the studio?"

Thisbe wound around Paul's feet to comfort him. Paul could feel the emotion concentrate in his throat before he spoke. "We, um, we just recorded, y'know. We discussed the arrangements of the songs, the lyrics and everything and…". Paul paused to take a deep breath, then continued "…and we just…uh, we…" Holding his hands tightly, he bit his lip. Unable to look at Linda any more, he looked down at Martha and Thisbe. When a tear fell on Martha, she jumped up to touch Paul's nose.

Linda put her hands on Paul's back. "Come here," she said gently.

As errant tears streamed down his face, he apologized "I'm sorry."

Linda gave him a long kiss on his left cheek, standing there while Paul cried. After a few minutes, Linda suggested that they go downstairs and get some tissues. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't find any so she gave him toilet paper instead.

"Thank you," he sighed through a whisper as he sat on the bed. Martha and Thisbe sat by his side, in the hopes that the warmth from their body would cheer up their loving master. "I'm sorry, Lin," he repeated.

"There's no need to be sorry, Paul. Sometimes, you have so much emotion inside you that the best thing to do is cry."

Linda's comfort and understanding was a very welcome change from Francie's standing there and doing nothing. He leaned toward her for another long hug. Martha and Thisbe relieved some of his worry but Paul really just needed a human touch right now.

Linda gave Paul another kiss on his left cheek as she ran her fingers through his clean hair. She and Paul sat there, hugging, as Linda rubbed his back. Occasionally, she gave him a kiss on the cheek, which he always returned.

With every second of the embrace, Paul felt his energy and happiness gradually return. He closed his eyes to concentrate on his breathing.

"Did you want to talk about it?" she quietly asked.

Paul could tell that Linda was genuinely interested, though she still had to coax him to talk. He had buried his emotion for so long that, by now, he was used to it.

"No," he said, his voice shaking as he wiped away tears. "I don't want to bother you. It's alright, Lin. It's not important. Tell me more about Heather."

Linda knew that Paul's avoidance of the subject meant that he was truly holding back. "You're not bothering me, Paul. I asked because I care. I know that I always feel better after I've said what's bothering me. The worry just…dissipates. And, often, this frightening problem doesn't seem quite so frightening after you say it to someone else. We don't have to, though. It can be difficult to put emotions into words."

Sighing, Paul frowned. Though Linda's words were sweet, internally, he still grappled with his guilt. Linda had been here for less than a day and, already, the visit was an embarrassing disaster—no food, starved animals and, now, crying to his guest about his silly problems. 'Linda must think I'm an awful host,' thought Paul as he fought tears.

Seeing that Paul was still deliberating, Linda put her right hand on Paul's left. Looking up, she told him "I'd really like to help, Paul." Martha barked, as if she was confirming Linda's sincerity.

Paul gave a half-smile. "You're serious? You really want to hear?"

"Absolutely. I know you'll feel better afterward."

An expression of relief grew on Paul's face. "Thank you," he softly said in Linda's ear as he gave her a grateful hug. Linda gave him a kiss on the cheek, internally remarking at how sad it was that Paul felt that his only options, until now, were to bottle his emotions and put on a face. Even sadder, it seemed as though he didn't have anyone who would listen to his concerns. Linda decided that she would fulfill that role, which it seemed he desperately needed.

Sighing again, Paul poured his heart out to Linda, detailing every frustration about the band—him drifting apart from John, John's dependence on Yoko, George's anger toward him and John, Ringo temporarily quitting and all the fighting and animosity between everyone.

Though the things Paul was saying sounded grim, Linda tried her best to find the silver lining without giving him false hope or meddling too much in the band's affairs. She emphasized their talent and that they were still able to work together as a band to create great songs, just like "Happiness Is A Warm Gun In Your Hand".

Paul felt as emotionally cleansed as a freshly sponged chalkboard. He marveled that Linda cared enough to listen and to give him sincere encouragement.

"Better?"

"I really do, love. I don't know how you did it, but it worked. I feel much better. Ta ra," he said, giving Linda a kiss. Her reassurance was a revelation—she improved his mood better than coke ever did or could, especially when he felt depressed.

"I'm glad," she sincerely replied.

"Lin?" Paul inquired after he lit his cigarette. "How'd you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I was upset."

"Magic," she smiled. Paul chuckled a bit. Genuinely, she told him "it's just something that I've noticed. I don't like to see other people upset."

With his left hand, Paul guided Linda's face to his, giving her a heartfelt kiss on her supple lips. "That's very sweet. Thank you. I really do feel better." Taking another drag, he then asked, "would you like to come back to the studio with me? I could use a friend." Everyone seemed to be on their best behavior when they had a guest. John had Yoko, so why couldn't he have Linda? Plus, there was food there so she wouldn't starve.

When Linda heard Paul ask, she tried to contain her excitement. She, of course, accepted his invitation to watch the most famous band in the world at work. At the same time, Paul's words struck a chord of sadness—"I could use a friend." Perhaps things really were as dire as Paul had described.

"Paul," she asked, shifting tones, "do you know where my suitcase is? It hasn't arrived yet."

"Nobody works on Sunday…well, except The Beatles, I suppose. It won't arrive until tomorrow. You'll just have to sleep in my pajamas." With a naughty grin he added "or nude."

She smirked. "It's a little too chilly now to sleep nude."

"All the more reason to cuddle then," Paul said as he pulled Linda close.


	9. Chapter 9

Paul and Linda walked back to the house from Abbey Road in the peaceful early morning air. It was difficult to believe that this was "swinging London". It was also difficult to believe how much animosity there was between everyone at the session. This was certainly not The Beatles that she and the rest of the world knew; it was obvious that each of them had matured and grown apart. Now she understood why Paul was so sad at times—he was watching something he helped to build slowly fall apart. Linda was fighting closing her eyes as she walked, as it was almost 7:30 in the morning in New York.

Before they went to bed to share some pot, she told Paul she was going to cut up an apple for Martha that she had taken from the studio. It was a miracle she was able to find anything there suitable for a dog or cat to eat. Most of what was there was tea, biscuits and plenty of cigarettes. Paul was touched that Linda would even try to find something that Martha and Thisbe could eat. He told her he would cut it up, as she was knackered. Linda watched him cut what he could from the apple; she was amused at his lack of skills in the kitchen. Linda cut the rest of what she could from the core. Impatiently, Martha waited. Once she had the slices, she gobbled it up. A hungry Thisbe jumped on the counter; Paul had never seen her so eager to eat. He fed her the bite-sized pieces of apple Linda had cut. After she ate enough to sustain herself, she walked away. Martha eagerly ate Thisbe's rations.

The next morning, Linda awoke to a cat alarm clock—Thisbe's claws walking on her torso. She tried Paul first but he groaned and rolled over. Linda could feel the coolness of the sheets against her skin; she had gotten warm in Paul's pajamas under the covers during the night. Now cold, she carefully reached behind her so as to not wake Paul. His roomy shirt and the covers warmed her.

Hearing that someone was up, Martha marched to Linda's side of the bed. Linda heard her whining. "Soon, Martha, soon," she whispered as she scratched Thisbe. To appease Martha, Linda reached her left hand down to happily give Martha scratches between her ears. Martha kissed Linda's left hand to show her appreciation. Linda looked at the clock, translating the current time to New York time while she mindlessly scratched Thisbe. It was early morning there. Heather would be home from school in a few hours—perhaps she could call her before she went to bed.

Not wanting Thisbe to hog the attention, Martha put her front paws next to where Linda lay in bed. She knew enough to not bark while her owner was asleep. Linda scratched her between the ears until Martha could no longer hold onto the bed. After that, she sat on the floor beside Linda and whined again. "Me too, Martha," Linda whispered. Suddenly, she had an idea.

Getting into the same skirt and sweater she had worn since she landed, she went outside. Linda felt guilty as she left Martha scratching at the door. As she approached the gatebirds, she heard mumbles.

"Look, girls, it's the new Francie. Paul's going to use you up eventually, you know. _You're_ only here for sex just like the rest of 'em," one of them said.

Despite their jagged edges, Linda let the pointed words roll off her. "Hello, ladies. Could one of you please go out and get Martha some dog food and Thisbe some cat food? Paul doesn't have anything in the house. I'll give you money."

Ignoring her plea, the same girl snidely asked, "where's Paul?"

"He's upstairs asleep." Linda knew that if she could guilt the girls somehow, she could get them to get Paul's pets some food. "Paul told me that you sometimes do chores for him, like walking Martha. If I give one of you money, could you please get Martha some cans of dog food and Thisbe some cans of cat food? I'm not even sure where the closest market is. Plus, you'd know what they like better than I would. You can even keep the change."

"What makes you think we'll help _you_?! You're sleeping with him and you're not even good enough. All of _us_ are more qualified. We've been here for years! You've only been here for a day. Plus, _you're_ just an American. He should be with a British girl." Among the staunch agreement from the gatebirds was one "come off it, Edith!"

"Shut it, Daisy!" Edith snapped. "Forget it, bitch," she told Linda. "Go wake Paul up and have _him_ ask us. Your money's no good here. It's _American_ money anyway. Go back from where you came, Yankee slag!"

"Look," Linda said frankly, "the food isn't even for me. It's for the dog and cat. _Paul's_ dog and cat. When I woke up this morning, Martha was whining again. Thisbe is hungry, too. But Martha's absolutely starving and I feel terrible about that. You're going to deny a starving dog and cat food?"

"Paul likes us better than you. We all hate you, slag," Edith taunted. She continued rudely, "you know that we're your competition so you want to get rid of us. It's a ploy. I bet Martha and Thisbe are fine. Either that or _you've_ been preventing Paul from feeding them. You left yesterday and didn't bring her back anything. _That's_ downright cruel. I should go tell the police."

Linda was beginning to lose her patience. She didn't feel the need to defend herself to the gatebirds by telling them that she had brought Martha and Thisbe an apple when she came home. "I can bring Martha out here. She's famished! So is Thisbe." Pleading, Linda asked, "**please** could one of you go to get some food for them?"

"I'll do it," Daisy timidly offered as she raised her hand.

"You're not going, Daisy!" snapped Edith again, reaching for Daisy's hair. "If you do, you're not coming back. You're going to help the Yank scrubber?! TRAITOR!"

"Don't pull her hair!" yelled Linda.

"Ow!" yelped Daisy. "What'd you do that for?!"

"You'll get another if you help the slag," threatened Edith. The rest of the gatebirds grumbled with stern approval while Linda gasped.

Edith was always making threats, most of which were empty. This was one of the first times she had become vicious. Daisy had always longed to stand up to her, but wouldn't; as the undisputed head gatebird, Edith would make it her business to prevent Daisy from continuing to hang around. Paul was her favorite and she didn't want to miss her chances of seeing him.

In the end, Daisy's fondness for Blue, her family's Irish setter, won her heart. As she stepped forward to get the fiver from Linda, Edith pushed her back. Struggling, Daisy attempted to push forward but Edith was too strong.

"Edith, don't push Daisy! Let her through," said Linda in her motherly voice.

"Who asked you, munter?! Piss off!" hissed Edith. Daisy, again, attempted to move forward in vain. Yelling started among the crowd and the two unexpected boxers.

"Stop it! Stop fighting!" shouted Linda. She felt guilty and angry that her simple request had escalated to such pettiness. "Let Daisy through!"

Edith spit in Linda's direction but missed.

Downstairs, Martha barked constantly. Paul's eyes burst open. Finding Linda gone from the bed, he yelled her name. Martha responded with more angry barking. Paul's musical ears could hear Linda outside. Rushing downstairs, he stormed outside and left the front door ajar. Martha bounded outside and, protectively, barked at the gatebirds. As Paul irately approached the gate, the gatebirds admonished Edith and Daisy to stop fighting.

Linda looked over to see an angry, barefooted, tousled-haired Paul in his cute paisley pajamas. Instinctively, he put his arm around Linda. Martha continued barking until Paul crossly told her to stop.

"**Just what the fuck do you think you're doing, eh?!**" Paul furiously taunted the gatebirds. His Liverpool accent thickened. "This is **my** house and all ye do is lark about and push me buzzer incessantly! You lot have lives and other things t' do! **Piss the fuck off!** GO ON THEN!"

The gatebirds stood there, shocked. They had rarely seen Paul this angry. Though tense from the yelling, Linda tried to diffuse the situation.

"Paul, Paul," she soothed as she looked at him while holding his left hand.

"**YOU HEARD ME—THE WHOLE LOT OF YE BEST LEAVE!**" Paul egged.

"Paul, I was asking if someone would get food for Martha and Thisbe. When I woke up this morning, Martha was whining again. I felt badly for her so I came downstairs to give someone money to get them some food. I was just a scuffle. Are you alright, Daisy?"

"Yeah," Daisy answered somberly.

"It's ok, Paul. It's ok," Linda reassured him. Normally, the gatebirds would have taunted and booed, but this time, they were too frightened. Some of the newer ones left, shaken.

Paul put his right hand on Linda's shoulder. "Are _you_ alright, Lin?"

"I'm fine, Paul. I'm fine."

Relieved, Paul let out an exasperated sigh. In the seconds that passed, he felt some remorse but mostly pride for defending Linda from the wolves at his gate. Hoping to quickly put the situation past him, he changed topics. "Can one of you lot go out to get some food for Martha and Thisbe please?" Every gatebird's hand immediately shot up, visually pleading that Paul would pick them. "Alright, let me get some Big Bens. Come 'ead, love," he said, grabbing Linda's hand.

Once inside, he gave Linda a hug. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that. You _sure_ you're alright?" Linda assured him that she was. "I appreciate you going out there but I wish you wouldn't've."

"I saw that you were asleep and didn't want to wake you since you got home so late last night. You mentioned that sometimes you asked the gatebirds to do errands. I figured that if I said it was for you, they'd do it. Or, at least, have sympathy for a starving dog and cat."

"They don't have sympathy for _any_ woman who comes here." Promptly realizing what he had inferred, he slickly recovered by saying "…not that many women have come here."

"And I'm British," Linda said with a wink.

"Where ye from, love?" Paul joked in a thickened Liverpool accent.

"A former British colony called America. You know—British by association," Linda sarcastically replied.

Paul laughed a little, then told Linda he was going upstairs to get some money to give to a gatebird for dog food as well as some eggs and milk for them. Turning serious, she asked, "will you let Daisy get the food?"

"Alright. But how do you know the gatebird's names?"

"Edith used Daisy's name when she yelled at her."

"Edith," Paul sighed. "That bird's a proper nutter. I'm just going upstairs to get me wallet." When he came downstairs again, he found Linda at the foot of the stairs with Thisbe in her lap.

"She's taken a real liking to you. Normally, she's wary of strangers. She doesn't even like John this much and he loves cats."

"Dogs are usually more immediately trusting than cats," Linda commented as she stroked Thisbe's light grey tabby fur. "Cats can be really sweet if you give them time."

As Paul sat on the bottom stair next to Linda, Martha trotted to his feet; he vigorously petted her fur. "I'm sorry about this whole mess, Lin. I didn't intend for this to happen." With delight, Martha started licking his hand.

"Martha doesn't seem to mind," Linda smiled. "I don't either—that's just a part of life, Paul. Sometimes unexpected things happen."

Paul silently accepted Linda's comment. He was amazed and relieved she understood. She always seemed to take life as it happened. "But, I mean…how do you do that? How do you just let things roll off you?"

"Being a mother teaches you a lot about accepting things as they come." Linda scratched Thisbe under her chin. "Sometimes, kids don't want to do what you want them to. Most of the time, Heather's good. She's pretty easygoing. But, sometimes, she just doesn't want to cooperate. She has a little tantrum, so you've got to deal with it. You learn. It gets easier over time."

Paul could hear Thisbe purring loudly. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I've seen kids throw fits. I feel bad for the parents when it happens in public. And I feel bad for the kids who're screamin' and cryin'." As he rubbed Martha's belly, he continued "I've calmed me cousins down sometimes at reunions 'n' stuff. They like to be sung to, especially before going to bed."

Linda's affection for Paul grew. He seemed to genuinely like children. "What do you sing to them?"

"Rock 'n' roll stuff. Before they go to bed, I'll sing 'em lullabies. They also like it when I read them stories. So," he said as Martha smiled at him, "why'd you ask if Daisy could get the food?"

"She bravely volunteered. Edith pushed her back to try to prevent her from getting the money I had."

Paul shook his head and said "nutter".

"Do they stand out there all the time?"

"Yeah. Even when I'm on holiday, they'll stay out there. Rain, snow, scorching heat, it doesn't matter—they never leave. They mostly want pictures and autographs. Some of 'em are nice. I've invited a couple of 'em in for tea when there were only one or two outside. But, mostly, they're a bother. They'll keep ringing the intercom at all hours to get my attention. And anyone who comes over to the house has to walk through the crowd of 'em to even get close to the gate."

"Have they ever tried to sneak in after someone?" she asked, as Paul took out his lighter.

"A couple times but they know not to any more." Paul omitted the fact that, on more than one occasion, the gatebirds had broken into his house to steal things, mostly from his bedroom. "Come 'ead, let's give these Big Bens to the gatebirds so we can eat. Is there anything you want?"

"What were you gonna to get?"

"Milk, tea, sausages, eggs, bread, dog food and cat food."

"Sounds great."

Upon opening the door, the gatebirds instantly clamored for his attention again. Linda and Martha came outside with him. When Martha began barking at the gatebirds again, Linda crouched down to pet and comfort her.

Paul took a drag from his cigarette. "Where's Daisy?" he asked. Cringing with excitement, Daisy raised her hand. "Come 'ead, darling."

This time, Daisy was successfully able to make her way to the gate. Edith gave her a cold stare but didn't dare do anything else in Paul's presence, for fear of angering him.

"Daisy, could you get some tins of dog food and cat food, a carton of eggs, a carton of milk, tea bags, a loaf of bread and some sausages for me, please?" he said, giving her two ten pound notes. Daisy shook her head 'yes'. "You can keep the change. Ta, darling." After saying goodbye to all the girls to make nice, he walked into the house holding Linda's hand.


	10. Chapter 10

Forty-five minutes later, Daisy returned with exactly what Paul requested. He politely thanked her and took it into the house. Famished, Linda scrambled four eggs, cooked four sausages and toasted two slices of bread to split between them. Martha devoured her dog food in a matter of minutes, then begged for sausages. She would've eaten Thisbe's if she wasn't eating hers. The clanking of silverware against the plates replaced conversation. After Paul had shoveled the food into his mouth, he thanked Linda for breakfast while lighting a cigarette.

An hour later, Linda's suitcase conveniently arrived. Before he left for the studio, he gave Linda plenty of money, telling her to get whatever she wanted from the market delivered to the house.

"Do you have the market's number?"

"No. I don't know the name either. Just ring the operator and ask 'er for the closest one. Rose gets food from the closest market delivered."

"Is there anything you want in particular?"

Paul paused in thought. He probably needed everything in the house. "Get whatever you want. I'm sure I need pretty much everything besides what Daisy got already."

Linda played mother, asking him "well, what do you like?"

"Oh, I dunno…"

"Should I buy out the market then?" she smirked.

"Good idea. Then we'll have more time to go to bed," Paul grinned. Though his sex drive wasn't completely what it once was, Linda had certainly helped to restore some of it. "Get whatever you want, love, as long as it includes tea, cream and HobNobs."

'Paul's diet is about as round as Heather's', Linda thought. "What time'll you be home?"

Tapping his cigarette ash into the sink, "I'm not sure."

"Well, I'd like to make you something for dinner."

Paul smiled. He couldn't remember the last time someone made him a home-cooked meal. "I'll be home, but I can't promise when. Hand on heart that I'll be home, though."

After she kissed him goodbye and wished him well at the studio, she made a grocery list.

The groceries promptly arrived. Linda figured the market must have known who they were for. She had bought everything from the basics—tea, butter and cream—to condiments—salt and pepper—to meat, cheese, vegetables, fruit, more cat and dog food, tuna fish and, of course, biscuits. Linda was looking forward to making Paul home cooked meals.

Paul returned to the house to find a stocked pantry and refrigerator, a rarity. He and Linda sat down for tea and biscuits of all sorts. Martha had her own version—water and dog biscuits. Thisbe received half a can of tuna as a treat. Linda apologized that she didn't have dinner ready; when she tried to start the oven, it wouldn't work. Linda offered to make him more breakfast instead, but Paul insisted Linda take a break; she had been busy all day. He would order Chinese takeaway.

While they waited for the takeaway, they discussed what happened in the studio, most of which was fighting. Linda comforted Paul, holding his hand and offering encouraging words. Somehow, that brought them to the topic of existentialism. When the food arrived, they didn't even bother to take it out of the containers. Instead, they went upstairs to continue their discussion.

After dinner, she began cleaning their utensils and some pots and pans from the morning. Paul told her that she could put them in the dishwasher. Linda had never seen one. When she asked Paul how it worked, he couldn't tell her; he had only seen Mrs. Kelly load it. Thankfully, when Linda figured out how to start the dishwasher, it worked. Ironically, the first appliance in his house that worked was something used to clean it.

Once the dishes were loaded, Linda asked Paul if she could check her messaging service. Her heart ached when she received Heather's message, telling her how much she missed her already. When she told Paul that she would reimburse him for the call but he insisted that he would pay. "Come off it, Lin!—she misses her Mummy. Go on, love. Chat for as long as you like," Paul explained.

Mrs. Finch answered the telephone in the kitchen. As soon as Heather heard her mother's name, she screamed "Mommy, Mommy, Mommy! Can I talk to her? Please please please?"

Mrs. Finch smiled through her bit of heartache—Heather really missed her mother. Since she left the message, Heather had been asking when her mother would call. "I'd ask you about your trip but I think there's someone here who wants to talk to you more." She handed the phone to Heather.

"Mommy!"

"Heather," she smiled. "How are you?"

"Mommy, I miss you."

"I miss you, too, sweetie pie." Paul smiled at Linda, who looked happy but disappointed as she made the comment—Heather must have said how much she wanted Linda to come home. "What've you been doing with Mrs. Finch?" Linda asked as she bent down to pet Martha.

"We made chocolate chip cookies. I helped! Mrs. Finch said that I was a good helper."

Linda stood up and leaned against the wall in the kitchen. As soon as she stopped, Martha jumped up and barked to get Linda's attention. Paul coaxed Martha into the living room to give Linda peace.

"Mommy, a dog just barked!"

"She did. There's a dog in the house where I am right now. Her name is Martha. She's very friendly." Changing topics, she said "you must've had fun baking cookies. Did you enjoy them?"

"Yeah! But Mrs. Finch wouldn't let me eat them when they were warm. She says it'd make my heart go on fire. It was so mean. The cookies smelled so good! I had to wait forever to eat them."

Linda chuckled "you mean heartburn, Heather. Mrs. Finch is right—eating warm cookies can give you heartburn. She wasn't being mean, she was just looking out for you."

From the living room, Paul couldn't help but eavesdrop. Heather sounded like any young child who missed their Mum.

Heather got quiet as she played with Kitty's tail. "Mommy, are you really in London?"

"Yes, I really am in London."

"Is it far away?" Heather curiously asked.

"Yes, it's very far away from New York City."

"You don't sound far away," Heather stated simply.

Linda chuckled. "That's the magic of the telephone, Heather."

"Are you taking pictures with your camera?"

"I am," Linda lied. "Are you excited about school on Monday again? Grandma and Grandpa are going to pick you up from school tomorrow and you're going to stay with them."

The line grew quiet as Heather said "no," resentfully. "Mommy, I don't want to go."

"You won't be all alone, Heather. Grandma and grandpa will take you to school. They'll make sure you're ok," she reassured. "Grandma and Grandpa love you."

"Yeah," Heather said in passing as she held Kitty close to her right cheek.

"Cheer up, sweetie. You'll be ok."

Heather stayed quiet, rocking back and forth by pivoting on her feet. That was not what she wanted to hear.

Linda continued, "since tonight is your last night at Mrs. Finch's, make sure you tell her thank you for letting you stay there."

"Ok."

"Good girl."

Heather held Kitty up to her ear, listening to what he was whispering to her. "Mommy, Kitty misses you too."

"I miss him, too. Give him a hug for me."

Perking up at her mother's comment, Heather did as she was instructed. "He liked that," she smiled. "He loves you."

"I love him, too. And I love you, Heather," she told her daughter as she watched Paul playing tug-of-war with Martha in the living room.

"I love you too, Mommy."

"Can you put Mrs. Finch on the phone for me?"

"Ok. Bye Mommy. I love you." As she handed the phone to Mrs. Finch, Heather thanked her for letting her stay there. Mrs. Finch smiled back, telling her that she enjoyed it.

Linda talked with Mrs. Finch for a short while, telling her the bare minimum about her trip thus far—she had taken some pictures of London but no rock stars just yet. At Mrs. Finch's insistence, she also reviewed the instructions and phone numbers for where to meet Linda's father and stepmother. After thanking her again, she hung up the phone.

Though Linda had only been here two days, she had a good feeling about her and Paul. She enjoyed spending time with him and mothering him a bit. Linda liked that Paul could be open with his feelings and even cry; she saw it as a sign of maturity. Being macho was overrated anyway.

Paul noticed that Linda had casually omitted details about where she was staying and what she was doing. There was a part of him that was hurt that she didn't do so. He knew, however, that it could be a shock for her daughter to hear what her Mummy was really doing.


	11. Chapter 11

"Hello?"

"Morning Cyn, it's Paul."

Hearing Paul's friendly voice put Cynthia Lennon at ease. "Hello Paul, it's nice to hear from you."

"How have you been?"

"I'm alright, thanks," Cyn tentatively answered. "I'm getting on." She used to get together with George and Pattie or Ringo and Mo for dinner or a night out. But, these past few months since John had left her for Yoko Ono, she felt isolated. The only person who still kept in contact with her was Paul.

"Oh," Paul said sadly. "That must be difficult. I'm sure things will pick up soon. They always do. Is Julian alright, though?"

"He's getting on, too" Cyn hesitated. "He's getting used to John not being here. He wasn't here often but when he was, Julian always wanted his attention. Sometimes, he still asks for him. He asks for you too, Paul."

Paul's face lit up. "Does he?"

"He always enjoys playing and laughing with you, Paul, especially when you play pirates together. Julian could get lost for hours."

"It's been a while since I've seen Julian," Paul fondly mused as Martha trotted to his feet. "Do you have time today for me to come see him?"

Cyn breathed a sigh of relief. "Would you really?"

"Of course, Cyn."

"Julian would love that. I think it'd make him feel better to see a friendly, familiar face. Julian got used to seeing people because people were over all the time when John lived here. But, now…it's a bit lonely."

Scratching his head, then Martha's, he said, "I understand, Cyn. Divorce…a friend is always good, y'know. You need me to bring anything along for you or Julian?"

"No, I can't think of anything but thank you for offering," Cyn gracefully said.

"It's no trouble," Paul coughed, then, tentatively asked "would it, uh, would it be alright if I brought a mate of mine along? Her name is Linda and she's been staying with me for a bit. She's just _lovely_. She has a daughter about Julian's age in New York. I think you'd like her. She's very kind. Maybe it'd be nice to have someone else to talk to, y'know?"

"Sure, Paul," Cyn gently obliged. She knew Julian could use some of the genuine father-like attention that Paul always gave him. Admittedly, though, she could use a friend, too. "So I'll see you and Linda later today?"

"Yeah, I'll see you and Julian later. Goodbye, Cyn." Looking at Martha, he said "let's get you your brekkie, then." Enthusiastically, Martha barked. "Shhh, you'll wake the wife," he half-joked.

Linda peacefully awoke at about 11:00. The sun shone gently through the curtains, reminding her of her Dirty Weekend with Paul. She could feel the weight and warmth of Paul sitting next to her. As soon as he saw her stir, he happily wished her "good morning, Lin. How'd you sleep?"

Martha walked to Linda's side of the bed and stood on her front paws. "Mmm…good," Linda sleepily replied as she rolled toward Martha. "Good morning, Martha," she quietly smiled as she gave Martha a vigorous pet. In return, Martha gave her left hand a few good licks. "You want to get up?" Martha promptly lifted herself onto the bed (with a little help from Linda. As Martha turned around and settled near Paul and Linda's feet, Linda asked "what about you, Paul?"

"I slept well, too, Lin." Contentedly, Paul commented "I love it when Martha sits near my feet in bed. My brother Mike and I always wanted a dog when we were younger but me dad said 'no' because we didn't have enough money. Waking up with a dog next to me was always a wish 'til I got Martha two years ago. It amazes me that dogs can meet you, sniff you, from just that, be able to tell if you're friendly or not. Like that, they'll either start licking you or growling. They can even tell if you're happy or sad…even if they've never met you! I mean, once, I remember once, when I was walking back from the bus stop after school, I was maybe 15. I'd had a terrible time at school that day—I don't remember why, it was just one of those days where nothing seems to go right. I was in a right mood and all I wanted to do was go home and play me guitar. Up ahead, someone was walking their dog on the pavement, a little white Bichon Frise. As I got closer, the dog jumped up a couple of times and I felt his front paws on my legs. He was trying to get me to smile, almost as if he knew I was in a mood. And, you know what, Lin? It worked. After the dog did that, I felt better. I bent down and started petting him and then he started licking me hand and nudging my arm. He _loved_ it! I could've stayed there for hours just playing with Santa Claus if his owner hadn't been there—the dog's name was Santa Claus," he smiled. "I didn't even know him and he just wanted me to smile…I'll never forget that. Dogs know somehow, almost like they have a sixth sense or something. Cats do, too, but there's just something really special about a dog, y'know?"

"I do," Linda fondly whispered. "My horses did that for me, too. I could just be there for hours talking to them while I brushed their coats and their manes. Horses are marvelous listeners. My horses were some of my best friends when I was younger. I didn't have too many."

"Why not, Lin? You're so friendly."

Linda shrugged. "I preferred sitting in the fields by my house and watching the birds and bugs and sitting in the sunshine. So many people in our neighborhood thought that the only place to be was somewhere on the social calendar but I always thought that was boring. Nature is so much more interesting and beautiful. If you just sit quietly and let it come to you, it's beautiful. Sometimes, I'd go exploring on my own in the woods, lifting up rocks or pieces of wood and I'd find salamanders."

Paul yawned, covering his mouth. "Sorry, Lin. What're salamanders?"

"They're lizards that live under rocks but some of them live in the water, too. They are black and have yellow spots."

Raising his eyebrows, he realized "we have those here except they're called newts. Are salamanders lizards?"

"Yeah, they are," Linda said as she snuggled closer to Paul.

"I used to do some of those same things. I'd go off exploring in the woods near my house and see what I could find. I'd also look for birds sometimes, too. I'd get the guide out and try to find the picture that matched the bird and then read all about the bird—like how they lived and stuff like that. Then, when I got a little bit older I was in the Scouts, which is like our version of the Boy Scouts. We called ourselves the Panther Patrol and we thought we were all well hip. We'd go out camping and learning about nature and the woods and treating other people with respect…I think that's the same sort of thing you do in the Boy Scouts. But, then, I got too old or too cool for the Scouts and just explored again on me own. I never stopped doing it completely but I did it less frequently when um,…when me mum got sick."

Hearing the sadness in her owner's voice, Martha whined. "It's alright, girl," he shakily reassured her. Martha stood up and moved closer to Paul. Cocking her head to the side, she looked at him, as if to say "are you ok?" Sitting up, Paul and Linda both reassured Martha with a pet. After Martha saw that Paul felt better, she turned herself around and sat down on the bed again, this time atop Paul's calves.

Rubbing Linda's arm, Paul marveled "I can't believe you were doing the same thing as me all the way across the pond…and at the same time, too. What're the odds, love?" Paul took their discussion as a sign of fate. It also began to cement the idea that, perhaps, Linda could truly be the woman for whom he longed.

"It's very interesting," Linda agreed. "I was always very happy when I saw a deer. They're so graceful and elegant. People complained about the deer eating their plants or that there were too many of them. Some people even wanted to extend the deer hunting season so they could kill more of them. The government called it something very pat and non-violent sounding but it was terrible. It was the people who were encroaching on the deer's habitat! So, every time I saw a deer, I became very happy for them because they were still alive, almost like they were thumbing their noses at society. Did you have an animal that you always liked to see when you went exploring?" Silence passed and then Linda repeated "Paul?...Paul?"

"Huh?!" Paul asked, startled. "Oh, I'm sorry, Lin."

Linda shifted her weight to the other side of the bed. "Never mind," she told him, getting up to go to the bathroom.

Clasping her hand, he encouraged "come 'ead, love. I was just in my head before. I'll listen this time—honest."

"Hold that thought," she told him from outside the bathroom door.

Getting back into bed minutes later, Linda scooted back toward Paul, who welcomed her with a kiss on the cheek as they continued their conversation.

"I love a good lie-in," Paul sighed. "There's nothing I'd rather do, to be honest."

With a raised eyebrow, Linda asked "nothing?"

Paul was unable to contain his smile. "Well," he laughed, "I could think of something."

Slipping her right hand into his boxers, she felt him grow hard. "So could I," she smiled back. At the same time, Paul slid his hand up her pajama top, his fingers feeling the familiar curve of her breast. Slowly, he moved his calloused fingers down to the flatness of her stomach. As he did so, he softly, he blew under her right ear, setting Linda's heart aflutter as she amorously giggled. In return, she tugged on his boxers so she could mount him.

"Ladies first," he adamantly informed her in her ear.

Her radiant smile reassured him that he had made an intelligent choice.

Paul cuddled beside Linda, holding her hand. Seeing that they had finished, Martha joined them.

"I'm hungry, Paul. I'm probably going to make myself an omelet and maybe some bacon. Did you want some, too?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm hungry too, Lin. But I thought you were hungry earlier this morning," he winked.

"I was," she teased. "But now my stomach is hungry. I'll get up in a little bit."

"I called Cyn earlier this morning," he started.

"Cyn?"

"John's wife…well, ex-wife. He moved out of the house in May. Cyn came home and found him in bed with Yoko. Now it's just her and Julian."

"Oh," Linda empathized. "That's very sad. I can empathize, though."

"Yeah," Paul sighed, agreeing. "I feel quite bad for Julian because he's caught in the middle of it all. When John and Cyn were still together in the early days, I'd go over to the house to write songs with John. After we were done, I'd end up playing with Julian. John didn't really know how to play with him."

Confused, Linda asked, "what do you mean?"

"Well, once, I was over at John's house. We were sitting and having tea and Julian came rushing in, asking me to play. So, I started playing with him—you know, pretending and having fun and doing all the things kids do. I ended up staying for dinner and then, after Julian went to bed, John took me aside and asked me 'can you teach me how to play with Julian?' I tried to answer but I couldn't. I really wanted to teach John but I couldn't because it's something that you can't teach—it's just something you figure out. When I was younger, and even now, the family used to get together for the holidays or a drink or tea sometimes at someone's house. I'd see me aunties, uncles, cousins, all of them. The family was so big that, usually, someone had a baby that needed taking care of. So an auntie would tell me that she was going to do her rounds at the party and ask if I could please take care of her lovely baby. Of course, I accepted. Or, sometimes, my younger cousins would ask to sit in my lap or they wanted someone to play with. I was used to having a baby on my knee—I love it, actually. I love kids! They're all so lovely and easy to entertain…sometimes, I'd tickle my cousins or just roll around with 'em, other times I'd read 'em books or tell them stories, sing them songs or even just talk with 'em. So that's what I did with Julian. When I told John that I couldn't because of all that, he just looked disappointed. John would try to play with Julian but, often, he'd just get angry or frustrated 'cause he has a short temper. And then Julian'd cry. Afterward, John would try to make right with Julian but it never got easier, I think. John's not…" Paul paused, unsure of how to say this diplomatically. "John's a brilliant mate but…well…John's confused when it comes to kids. Julian's a lovely little boy—he definitely has John's imagination. John and Cyn have given him toys and teddy bears but his favorite thing is make-believe. Whenever I'd see Julian, I'd try to give him attention because I loved playing with him but I also felt like he could use some attention."

Putting her left hand on top of his right, she commented "that's really sweet, Paul."

"I feel badly for Cyn because she's in that big house all alone. She has Julian but…it's just the two of 'em. She'll get on, though, because she knows how—she's an adult. But, Julian doesn't know how because he's a child. I feel badly for Cyn but I feel worse for Julian. He's easy to love…most kids are, really. I don't think John's seen Julian since May. Or, if he has, it's been a while. I haven't either, which is why I called Cyn this morning. I wanted to go over to see her and Julian to see how they're getting on and to play with Julian, too…did you want to come, love? I think you'll like Julian and Cyn's lovely, too."

"Sure," Linda smiled. "I'd like to meet them both."


	12. Chapter 12

Paul and Linda awaited the metal gate to Kenwood open, slowly revealing the long driveway. The few gatebirds outside screamed at the sight of Paul's Mini. Soon, though, they turned into boos and hisses when they saw who was in the car with him. 'Word gets around quickly,' thought Linda.

After getting out of the car, they walked up to the house. Before Paul rung the bell, he gave Linda a small kiss as he squeezed her hand. It was his way of, silently, telling her "I love you".

Linda, patiently, and Paul, nervously, waited for the door to open. When it did, standing before them was Cyn, wearing a simple flowery chartreuse dress. "Hello, Paul," she forcefully smiled.

"Hello, Cyn," he greeted, bending down to give her a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the back. "I'd like you to meet, Linda. She's me girlfriend," Paul explained with a bashful smile. He had never used that word to describe her before—he thought of her as a very good friend who he, frequently, happened to have sex with. "We've been going together for a while now," he half-joked as he smiled at Linda. Knowingly, Linda smiled back while she gently laughed.

Extending her hand, she smiled and warmly said "hello, Cyn. It's so nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Linda," she said, shaking the hand Linda offered her.

"Hello," Linda's face lit up as she bent down. "What's your name?"

"UNCLE PAUL!" Julian pushed past his mother to hug Paul's semi-flared black pant covered legs.

"Julian!" Paul jubilantly exclaimed as he lifted him into the air.

"I missed you, Uncle Paul!" Julian said with a hug.

Paul returned Julian's hug, telling him "I missed you too, Julian. Go on—give us a kiss, then." Julian placed a small kiss on Paul's cheek, which Paul returned to Julian. "You've grown so tall since I've seen you last! Do you have any wobbly teeth yet?"

"I wanna fly!"

"There's someone I'd like you to meet first, before you take off in the sky. I brought a friend with me today. Her name is Linda and I think you'll like her. She's from America."

"Hi Linda from America. You have pretty hair."

Linda blushed. "Thank you, Julian. It's nice to meet you," she said, holding out her hand, which Julian shook back.

"Come on, Julian. Let's let Paul and Linda come inside," Cyn meekly encouraged. "Otherwise you'll catch cold."

Once inside, Paul lifted him up and down, allowing Julian to kick his legs with joy. He then let Julian hang from his left arm upside down as Paul spun around. Through laughter, Julian demanded, "put me down! Put me down!"

"On your head?" Paul joked.

"No!" Julian protested. "On my feet!"

"Alright, feet it is then."

Moving toward the kitchen, Cyn asked "would either of you like any tea? Or anything to eat?"

Paul, who was kneeling on the floor while playfully holding and pushing both of Julian's arms, said, "I'll have a cup of tea, thanks." In the brief moment that he paid attention to Cyn, Julian pushed him back, landing on top of his chest.

"I'd like one, too, please," said Linda, stifling laughter. "Do you need any help, Cyn?"

"No, I'm alright, Linda. But thank you for asking. Have a seat anywhere you like. I'll be back with the tea in a few minutes."

Linda sat on the large burnt orange cushioned couch while she watched the ongoing wrestling match between Julian and Paul. Julian, currently, was winning, sitting atop Paul's chest.

As he smiled back at Julian, he heard the click of Linda's camera. Paul tried to sit up. Pretending he couldn't, he said, "_oof_, you got me, Julian. You win."

"Now you're my prisoner!"

"Carting me off to prison, then?"

"Yes. You've been bad and bad people go to prison. I'm going to lock you up forever and ever!" Julian placed pretend handcuffs on Paul, then told him "I need to call more policemen." Julian suddenly began running around the room, emitting the noisy whine of a police siren. After he was done, he returned to his original post atop his prisoner's chest.

"Are you the police officer who's come to cart me off to prison?" Paul asked.

"Yes!"

"What's your name, sir?"

"Police Captain Julian. I have to put handcuffs on you."

"_More_ handcuffs? I've got handcuffs on already, Police Captain Julian, and they're quite tight! You've got me so, surely, you can let me sit up. I won't run off—Scout's honor!" he promised with a sly wink.

"No!" Julian protested, slapping Paul on the forehead. Paul's head hit the carpet with force.

"Oof! That hurt!" Paul objected, breaking character. Linda grimaced at Julian's rough treatment.

A look of shame overtook the one of silliness on Julian's face. Accustomed to his father's anger, Julian moved away from Paul.

Paul rubbed the back of his head with his left hand. "Come 'ead," he encouraged as he gently clasped Julian's hand. Paul patiently reasoned, "we can play, Julian, but you have to promise me no more hitting, alright? How would…" Paul stopped himself cold. Asking Julian how he would feel if he was hit was not a good idea, as he knew that when John lost his temper, which was not hard to do, he had struck Julian. "I don't like being hit and that did really hurt. No more hitting, please."

Scratching his head, Julian timidly agreed. "Can you still be my prisoner?"

"As long as you play fair, Julian, I'll play anything you like."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

Linda smiled to herself, impressed with the way Paul handled that situation like it was second nature. 'Paul did say that he loved kids,' she mused.

Seamlessly, Paul slipped back into character. "_Oh_, the police captain, eh? This case must be big then. So, Police Captain Julian, tell me—why do I have to go to prison? I haven't been bad. I just helped a little old lady cross the street this morning," he melodramatically pleaded.

"You robbed her and that's not nice! I have to take you to jail."

"Robbing someone isn't nice?" Paul asked, playing dumb.

"Yes! It's mean and wrong. She was even crying!"

Again, Paul pretended to struggle to get up. "I don't want to go to prison! Do you _really_ have to take me? I promise that I'll behave from now on. Take these handcuffs off me…please? What if I just gave back the money I owed? Could you take the handcuffs off of me then?"

Julian shook his head 'no', his bangs flitting from side to side. "You have to go to prison!" he declared.

"'Iron Fist' McGee doesn't give up without a fight!" Mischievously, Paul smiled, beginning to tickle Julian's stomach. When Julian doubled over with laughter on the floor, Paul ran away, yelling, "you can't catch me!"

"Yes I can!" Julian giggled, running after Paul. Linda heard laughter, thunderous footsteps and yelling, both in front of her and from further away; Paul and Julian must have been running all over a portion of the house. When they zipped past her, she quickly clicked her camera. A few minutes later, Paul returned to the living room holding Julian's hand while hanging his head.

"I'm locking you in jail!"

"Oh, please, Police Captain, sir, please don't lock me away!"

Julian pushed Paul toward the edge of the sectional sofa, where he was exiled opposite Linda. Pretending to take a key out of his pocket, Julian made the sounds of slamming the door and locking the jail cell.

Paul held onto the imaginary prison bars with both of his hands. "Can I call someone to help them get me out of prison? Every prisoner is entitled to a call, Mr. Police Captain, sir." His hands in prayer Paul begged "please?"

Cyn walked into the living room carrying a heavy tray that held four mugs of tea, sugar, milk and a plate of Digestives, both chocolate and plain, and Custard Creams. Linda stood up to help her, carefully taking two mugs of tea at a time and placing them on coasters on the large mahogany coffee table. Paul took the plate of cookies.

"You're in prison!"

"Your mummy was being very nice and bringing us tea and biscuits. And the tray looked heavy, too."

"Thank you, Linda. Thank you, Paul. That's so kind of you both to help." When John left months ago, so did the rest of the help—the maids, the cook and John's driver. Since then, Cyn had become accustomed to doing things herself; having someone help her, especially without asking, was a small act that went a long way.

While the adults were helping, Julian snuck a chocolate Digestive from the plate and quickly shoved it into his mouth.

"Julian…" Cyn sighed. "Oh dear, you've got chocolate and crumbs all over your mouth. Excuse me, Paul and Linda—I have to take Julian to the kitchen to get him cleaned up. Help yourselves to the tea. I'll be back in a moment." As she walked with Julian, Linda heard her scold him by saying "you know it's not polite to take food before the guests."

Paul picked up the plate of biscuits and offered one to Linda, who chose a biscuit that she did not recognize. "I've never had this before. What is it?"

"Chocolate Digestive. They're John's favorite." Paul, who chose a Custard Cream, took a bite.

"Mmm, it's good."

Hearing a 'meow', he looked down. A warm smile instantly appeared on his face as he reached down to pick up the light grey cat. "Hello, Elvis."

"Elvis?" Linda laughed.

"Yeah," smiled Paul as he let Elvis sniff his fingers. "John loves Elvis. It was one of the things that made us so close."

"Do you play with Julian often?"

"I used to when he was younger. Now it's only sporadic but I still love it. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious," Linda said through munches of a dunked chocolate Digestive.

Paul giggled at Linda's faux-pas. After Linda realized why, he reassured her in a thickened Liverpool accent "don't worry, love—we ain't posh here."

"You've never dunked your biscuits, Paul?"

"Nah. And if we did, Mum would've had me and Mike's heads. She wasn't posh by any means but she wanted us to grow up with good manners."

Leaning toward him, she taunted "what would she do if she saw you with a girl like me?"

"Faint," Paul winked.

A moment later, Julian and Cyn returned. "Thanks for waiting Paul, Linda. Do you need anything else?"

"Prisoners aren't allowed to eat biscuits!"

"I've been fine, thanks," assured Linda as she scratched Elvis's stomach. "Sit down and have your tea. Yours must be getting cold."

"Am I still your prisoner?"

"Yes! Prisoners aren't allowed to have biscuits because biscuits are for good people. Prisoners are bad. And you can't eat biscuits with handcuffs."

"I can, y'know! I can even drink me tea. Even prisoners need sweets sometimes. And even Police Captains like their tea, don't they? Let's have our tea, Julian and then, I promise, you can throw me back in prison."

Paul, Linda and Cyn sipped their tea, ate biscuits and chatted for about an hour and a half. All the while, Julian vied for Paul's attention. For a while, Julian sat in Paul's lap, fidgeting and squirming. When he was unable to wait any longer, he ran off to get his art kit. Perhaps drawing something for Paul would get his attention.

As they talked, Linda and Cyn got to know each other better. Linda mentioned that she had a daughter who was about Julian's age, she and Cyn began to talk about motherhood and children. Paul took the opportunity to color with Julian on the floor.

"Mummy, look! I made you a drawing."

"Oh!" Cyn smiled. "Thank you, Julian. Can you tell me what it is?" she asked as she scanned the jumble of lines and colors.

"It's a fire truck going to rescue the people who are in a house. The firemen are going to save them. And that's their kitty and doggy who are up the tree. Their kitty is named Doggy and their doggy is named Kitty. They're a silly family, Mummy. They're all clowns." Julian heard the camera click again.

"Why are you taking pictures?" he asked Linda.

"I'm a photographer."

"What do you take pictures of?"

"Anything that I think is pretty or interesting."

"Boys can't be pretty," Julian smarted as he folded his arms.

"I mean handsome. Boys are 'handsome' and girls are 'pretty'," Linda explained.

Julian took another Digestive from the tray and focused on Linda's camera. Meanwhile, Cyn carefully slipped the plate of biscuits away from Julian's reach.

"I like your camera," said Julian.

"Thank you," Linda smiled.

"Does it have a name?" Julian asked with a mouth full of crumbs.

Linda chuckled. "A name?"

"Yeah!"

"No," Linda continued to chuckle.

"Is it your best friend?" Julian asked, being silly.

Linda looked down at the black case for her Canon, feeling the varied texture beneath her fingers. "Yeah, it is, actually. I take it with me everywhere I go."

"Why?"

"Because I might see something that is worth taking a picture of."

Julian shoved the last bite of Digestive in his mouth. "How do you know when to take a picture?"

Linda honestly pondered Julian's question—it was a good one. She had no an answer. Carefully shaking her head, she told him, simply, "I just take pictures of what I like."

Julian sat next to Linda on the sofa. "How do you know what you like?"

"Experience. That's the best teacher. After a while, you begin to realize what you enjoy. It can take some time. What's your favorite thing to do, Julian?"

Julian gave a large smile to Linda. "Play! I really like playing pretend and coloring and eating cookies."

"You sound just like my daughter," Linda smiled with a twinge of sadness.


	13. Chapter 13

"Time to say goodbye to Uncle Paul, Julian."

"NO!"

"Don't make a fuss, Julian. It's almost time for dinner. If you're a good boy and eat all of your vegetables, you can have some ice cream."

"I DON'T WANT HIM TO GO!"

Reaching for his hand, Julian immediately struck it down. "Julian!" Cyn exclaimed. "No ice cream tonight."

"I DON'T CARE!" Julian yelled, sternly turning his back to his mother.

Linda grimaced, feeling slightly guilty as she watched Julian's temper tantrum.

"Julian, I'll come back," Paul assured, hoping to break the tension.

"NO YOU WON'T!"

Cyn gave Julian a scowl, letting him know that he should stop.

"Julian," he reasoned, "I know you're upset but promise I'll come back. Alright then?"

Julian stood there with his arms crossed. After a few seconds, he looked back to see if Paul was still standing there. When he looked back, he saw Paul open his arms. Julian stood there and watched, pretending he didn't care.

"Goodbye, Cyn," he said, standing up. "It was lovely to see you again. Thanks for having us."

Shaking Cyn's hand, Linda agreed. "Thanks for the cookies and the tea. It was nice to meet Julian, too." Turning to him, she said "goodbye, Julian. Maybe I'll see you again soon."

Julian sat in the middle of the living room, petting Elvis and pretending to not care. As soon as he heard Cyn unlock the door, he bolted for Paul.

Looking down, Paul felt someone squeezing his leg. Placing his left hand on Julian's head, he said "come 'ead" and lifted Julian up. Julian then burrowed his head in Paul's neck. From afar, Cyn and Linda watched as Paul and Julian had an intimate conversation.

"Alright?"

"No," Julian said quietly.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm gonna miss you."

Paul gave Julian a little squeeze. "Me too."

Squeezing back, Julian sighed, "I won't have anyone to play with now."

"I bet you have lots of friends at school! Who do you play with there?"

Elvis cuddled beside Julian. "Scott, Lucy, Ben, Hugo, Huw…Chris and Zane…Tulip…" As he thought of more people, he felt Elvis place his paw on his lower right leg. Julian looked down at him sadly. In return, Elvis let out a sad meow.

"That sounds like loads of friends to me."

"It's not the same," Julian said, shaking his head. "I don't want you to go."

"Me neither."

"Then why do you have to?"

"Because it's almost dinner time."

"Why can't you stay like always?" Julian pouted.

Paul scratched his head. "It's different this time."

"Why?!" Julian demanded, stamping his foot.

"Because we have to leave, really. It's no big secret. That's just what it is."

Julian stood with his arms crossed. "It's not fair! I want you to stay. Can you read me a bedtime story?"

"It's not bedtime yet."

"I want you to read me a bedtime story. You make funny voices when you read."

That comment made Paul smile widely. "I'm glad you like them. I love reading to you."

"Then why can't you stay and read me a bedtime story?" he whined.

Paul exhaled deeply through his nose and mouth. "One of these days, Julian. I promise."

"You say that but you don't mean it!"

"_I do!_ Really, I do." Paul paused, scratching Elvis, then added "prisoner's honor" with a wink.

Julian let out a small laugh, then remembered that Paul was still his prisoner. "You can't leave! You're still my prisoner."

Paul sat on his feet, pleading "please, oh, please, set me free, Police Captain Julian! I'll be a good boy. I'll help old ladies cross the street. I won't steal any more. And I'd miss Linda lots and lots if you kept me in prison."

"She could come and visit you," Julian suggested.

"But she'd be in me house all alone. She's only just come all the way from America a few days ago. That's thousands and thousands of miles away! Please don't make her sad. Can you take these handcuffs off of me? Please?"

Julian pondered his prisoner's plea. "Do you promise to be good?"

"Oh, I promise I will," Paul said, raising his left hand. Then, placing his hand on his heart he said "hand on heart."

After a brief moment, Julian relented.

"Thank you, Police Captain Julian. You've made me very happy. And you've made Linda happy, too." Silence fell between them.

Elvis wound his way around Julian's feet. "I don't want you to go," he begged. "Please."

"Want to give me a hug goodbye? Make it a big one."

Julian practically toppled Paul as he embraced him. Hearing Julian sniffle, he rubbed his back in between giving him a few tickles. About a minute later, he gave Julian a kiss on the cheek and then let go, but Julian latched on again.

"How about one more twirl?" Julian nodded his head 'yes' against Paul's shoulder.

Paul picked up Julian, lifting him up and down. He then flipped Julian a few times, set him back upright.

"What about the twirls?" Julian asked. Paul spun Julian around until he became dizzy.

"Again again!" Julian laughed.

"Another time," promised Paul as he reoriented himself and caught his breath. "Another hug instead?" Julian instantly accepted.

Hand-in-hand, he walked with Julian to the door. Elvis followed close behind. "He decided to set me free this time on good behavior," Paul informed Cyn as he gave Julian's hand to her. Still, Julian stood closer to Paul. "I promised I wouldn't cause any more trouble."

Amused, Cyn smiled at Paul, who gave her a kiss on the cheek. As he did, she whispered "thank you" in his ear. In return, Paul gave her a wink. "I'll see you soon, Cyn." Bending down to speak to Julian "and I'll see you soon, too. Goodbye, Police Captain Julian. Be a good boy. I will if you will."

Julian, once more, reached for Paul but instead caught his leg. Waving goodbye, Paul closed the door and left. Elvis circled his feet and rubbed his head on his lower legs. Still, Julian frowned as he leaned into Cyn.

As Linda walked down the steps, hand-in-hand with Paul, she marveled at what had just occurred. Julian, obviously, adored Paul. In return, Paul had treated Julian with kindness and empathy. When Julian mistreated Paul, he helped him understand why what he did was wrong.

Paul opened the car door for Linda, then opened his own. Buckling his seatbelt, he then looked back at the mansion he had just exited, hoping that Julian wasn't too sad. He felt quite guilty about leaving Julian when he so desperately wanted him to stay, especially because it seemed like everything around him was changing.

"I know how you feel," she said, placing her right hand atop his left. "I felt the same way two days ago."

Linda returned to the house with a somewhat heavy heart. "Would you mind if I called Heather and checked my messages? I'll pay you for the call."

"Don't be silly, love. Go on and call her. I know how much you miss her." Looking down at Martha while patting his knees, he playfully asked, "Want to go outside and play? Yes you do! Yes you do! Come on, girl!" Enthusiastically, Martha barked then rushed past Paul, as if to ask him 'what are you waiting for?'

Linda picked up the phone, carefully dialing each number.

"Big Apple Messaging Service, this is Charice."

"Hi Charice, it's Linda Eastman. How are you doing?"

"Just fine, ma'am."

"Please, call me Linda."

"Alright, Linda. What's your number?"

"KL-3939."

"Just a moment, Linda."

Linda waited impatiently as she heard a robotic, intermittent beep to let her know that the call had not accidentally ended. She expected two messages, at least—one from Heather and one from Lillian. They talked practically every day. This was the first time in a long while that she had not spoken to her with such frequency.

The beeping ceased. "You have a message from Heather Eastman from Saturday at 10:30 AM. She said that she misses her Mommy and wants her to call. Do you need the number?"

"No, thanks. I know the number. Are there any other messages?"

"Just one from Lillian Roxon. She called today at 3:45 PM, telling you to call her when you had the chance. Do you need that number, ma'am, uh, I mean Linda?"

"No, no thank you. I know that one, too."

"Ok, is there anything else I can do for you today?"

"That's it. Thank you again, Charice. Goodbye."

Quickly, Linda dialed her father's number; she couldn't call Lillian now (or any time during the trip). Though she was calling to speak to Heather, she was still nervous. Heather would not answer the phone; for one, she was too short. The maid would answer the phone. Her father would hear that the phone call was for Heather. He would then instruct her to give him the phone when she was finished. He would shoo his granddaughter out of his home office, only to give Linda a lecture from 3,000 miles away.

The phone rang and, sure enough, one of the maids, Delilah, answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, Delilah. How are you doing?"

"I'm doin' just fine, Miss Linda. Just fine. How about yourself?"

"I'm doing well. London is a lot of fun but I miss Heather."

Delilah lifted the lid on the pasta and stirred it to ensure it didn't boil over. "I don't think she'll mind me sayin' that she misses you, too. You know, it had been so quiet in the house these past few years. Everything was so orderly and proper. Heather brought some life to the place! She's been helpin' in the kitchen sometimes, just like you used to do."

Linda smiled. "She helps me in the kitchen at home sometimes, too. Heather loves cracking eggs."

"She's a good helper. And it's nice to have some company. I'll go get Little Miss Heather for you. Have a good rest of your trip, Miss Linda."

"Thanks, Delilah." A minute later, Linda heard "Mommy!"

"Heather-bear!" she grinned, practically laughing. "How are you, sweetie?"

"Miss D gave me a gold star in class today! I did a really good job on my reading test. She said that I'm one of the best readers in the class!"

"Wow! I'm very proud of you."

"Thanks, Mommy. Are you still in England?"

Slipping on one of her socks, she cradled the phone with her shoulder and neck. "Yes, I am."

"You've been there forever. When are you coming home?"

"I've only been here for four days, Heather. That's less than a week."

Heather shook her head 'no' as she cradled Kitty in her right arm. "It's forever, Mommy. I miss you. Kitty misses you, too."

Linda gave a pained smile, telling Heather that she missed her, too. "Give Kitty a hug and a kiss for me." A small void of sadness filled Linda's chest, forcing her to change topics. "Did you look at the pictures that I developed for you? Those are ones that you took all by yourself, Heather."

After another 10 minutes of conversation, Linda looked at the clock. Though she could talk to Heather for hours, she had to be mindful of her minutes. "I hate to end this conversation, sweetie pie, but I have to get off the phone. Calling America from England is very expensive."

"No, Mommy! I don't want you to go," Heather sadly begged.

"It's late over here and I'm very tired. I have to go to sleep, Heather," Linda lied.

"Mommy, you don't go to bed now! We haven't even had dinner yet!"

"It's late here—it's 10:30 at night, Heather." As soon as Linda finished her sentence, she regretted it—that statement of fact lead to a whole other line of questions and explanations about the sun, the earth and time zones.

"Ok, Heather, now I _really_ have to say goodbye. And you probably have to go, too—you're having dinner soon."

Heather's whines echoed down the seemingly endless hall down which she was looking. The stately manor where her grandma and grandpa lived seemed very lonely when she wasn't with anyone. If she wanted to find grandma or grandpa, she had to run down the hallway yelling their name until she heard them. The apartment in the city was so small, but she could always find Mommy to show her a drawing she made or give her a hug. "Mommy, I want to talk to you and draw pictures with you and go to the park with you and have you tuck me into bed and read me stories! And I have to make sure Kitty always stays with me or else he'll get lost and he'll be really scared. The house is gigantic!"

Even though she was only gone for a few days, she felt like she was missing out on seeing Heather grow up. She did not want to leave England just yet, as she was enjoying her time with Paul. What began as a frivolous sex-filled relationship has grew into a fast and close friendship. "I'll call again tomorrow, Heather. I promise."

"Nuh-uh!" Heather protested.

"I will," Linda sincerely promised.

Though she knew her mother was telling her the truth, Heather scowled argumentatively.

Linda could tell Heather was doubtful. "I promise, Heather. I'll call you tomorrow after you come home from school. What time do you come home from school?"

"I don't know."

For a moment, Linda forgot that her daughter could not tell time. She quickly figured that, because Heather got out of school at 2:30, she would be home around 4 PM New York Time. "I'll call you around 4 PM."

"Promise?" Heather insisted.

"I promise. When you get off the phone, tell Delilah that I'll call you about then." The next thing Linda heard was Heather's voice echoing throughout the marble-floored, grandiose dining room. Heather's voice fading in and out made her realize that her daughter was jumping up and down with glee, making Linda quietly laugh. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. Sleep tight, Heather-bear. I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy."

After the phone receiver slid back into the holder, Linda felt both the sadness of not being able to give Heather a hug and kiss and the relief that she did not get yelled at by her father. She then rushed downstairs to the backyard to play with Martha.

"Hi Paul."

Martha stopped rolling with Paul in the grass and ran to Linda, licking her hand. Linda bent down to pet her and give her a hug. Martha then licked her cheek profusely and nuzzled her neck until Linda laughed. "Thank you, Martha," she said with a smile.

Brushing himself off, Paul stood up and walked over to Linda. "She gave your cheek a good washing, eh, love?" Linda agreed while lightly laughing. "Done with your phone call so soon? How's Heather?"

"She's good," she sighed. Shrugging, she continued "she misses me but there's nothing I can do but keep calling her until I get home. I miss her, too."

Paul looked at her empathetically. "What do you miss most?"

"Hugging her and tucking her into bed." Linda could feel Paul taking her in his gentle arms as Martha pawed her jeans.

"Call her again tomorrow and talk for as long as you like, love. It'll make you feel better."

"Thanks, Paul. But I can't talk to her for long—the longer I talk, the more Heather misses me and the more upset she'll get when I have to get off the phone."

"Do you feel better after you talk to her, though?"

"Yeah," Linda quietly replied.

"That's what's important then," Paul told Linda with a kiss. "Come 'ead—let's go inside. I'm freezing. I'm going to put the kettle on. Did you want a cup of tea too, love?"

While Paul put the kettle on, Linda told Paul she was going to go upstairs and change into her pajamas. She took a brief detour through the living room, then went upstairs to wander through the bathroom and bedrooms, which were a mess. Though Linda was sure Paul didn't ask her to come to London to be his live-in housekeeper, as he already had an old married couple that did, she decided to take on the task. Paul had a very nice house that, sadly, didn't feel like a home. Linda didn't have time to clean her apartment often, but she always felt better after she did. She suspected that Paul would feel the same. Martha might even appreciate it. Thisbe, though, was probably indifferent.

Linda meandered back down to the kitchen, hearing the kettle whistle and the clanking of mugs. "You have a nice house, Paul. I could help you clean it up a bit. You know—make it more of a home."

Paul looked at Linda with surprise. "You can do that?!"

"Sure," Linda simply stated. "I could keep your fridge filled with food, do the laundry, cook, take care of Martha and Thisbe, take care of you…we could get the sofas and the carpets cleaned, the television fixed…"

Paul marveled at Linda's simple yet radical suggestions. He wouldn't come home after long sessions at the studio to an empty, disheveled house. Linda being there made it more of a home instead of just a place to lay his head…or a girl. What she was suggesting would make it feel like a proper home, which he hadn't had in years. The Ashers' home was the closest thing he had, but it wasn't even his. He could, finally, return to his house to not only a woman who he wholeheartedly loved but also a true home. People like Brian or the secretaries at the studio took care of whatever he needed, but that wasn't the same. Linda was special. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also passionate, kind, understanding and easygoing.

Jane was always focused on her career and Francie was focused on…whatever it is she was focused on. Linda was someone he cared about dearly; he was pretty sure she felt the same. He never had any relationships like this. 'Relationship?' Paul thought, stopping him in his tracks. Paul realized he was in a relationship with Linda; he liked that.

After a moment of silence, he asked, "can you handle the gatebirds? They can be…well, you've seen," Paul commented.

Linda had been a single mother for years. However thoughtful it was that Paul asked she didn't need another man to protect her. "The worst I've seen them do is say mean things," she replied, taking the tea that Paul handed her.

'And steal things, too,' Paul thought. Fascinated, he asked, "you could _really_ do all that?"

"Yeah, I'd love to," she said genuinely. "It might even make you feel a little happier."

"I'm alright, love. Honest."

With her right hand rubbing his back, she told him "I know the fighting has been getting to you. It's always difficult when you're arguing, especially when it's with people you care about. It'll get better." Paul gave her a small smile. Linda continued, "at least, when you come home, you'll be somewhere warm and inviting. I find that when my apartment a little cleaner, I feel better. Home should be where you feel comfortable, where you can be yourself."

Paul marveled at what Linda just said. No one had _ever_ wanted to make a true home for him! The last time he had that was when his Mum was alive. In his mind, each place in his house always had a specific purpose—a space for writing music, for having parties, for doing drugs, for escaping the gatebirds, for bedding a girl…it was never, simply, a place to just be. "That sounds ace! Positively _brilliant_, Lin!" Leaning back, he, in disbelief, asked, "you could really do all that then?"

"Yes," Linda laughed. Swallowing a sip of her tea, she said, "you sound surprised."

"It's…No one's ever wanted to do that for me, Lin. It won't just be a place with me stuff inside, it'll be somewhere we can live together. It'll be nice to have the company of someone who isn't the housekeeper…and someone who I love, at that. I'm dead chuffed."

Linda warm smile grew. She felt proud that her simple suggestion could put him in such high spirits.

Leaning in, Paul gave Linda a long, intimate kiss. "As time goes on, I'm falling more and more in love with you." In both thrill and embarrassment, Linda turned away from him with a smile. "I know it sounds like a fairytale but it's the truth. The past few days have been like spending it with me best mate. I wish that I could buy you something that tells you how…how lucky I feel," Paul chickened out.

Linda told him that he didn't need to buy her anything; friendship was its own reward. "Just keep on keeping on," she said. "Keep being yourself."

There weren't enough kisses, hugs or condoms in the world to thank Linda. Though, that night, he would certainly try.


End file.
